lift. 


TIBOIVU    LKTT 


TH   FAUfBOUUC,    CABBTIMO   BEB    flDDLI   AMD   TE1   PAIL   OF   CATS,   AMD     TEX    BLIZZARD 
•WALLOWED  EBB  UP. 


ROSE  O'  PARADISE 


BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

AUTHOR  OF 
"TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY** 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
W.  J.   SHETTSLINE 


New  York 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 

Publishers 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 


I  lovingly  dedicate  this  book 

to 
Rose  and  Will  Scott 


2133694 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.     Father  and  Daughter 

II.     A  White  Presence 

III.  Jinnie's  Farewell  to  Molly  the  Merry  . 

IV.     Jinnie   Travels 

V.  Like  Unto  Like  Attracted       .... 

VI.     Peg's    Bark 

VII.     Just   a  Jew 

VIII.  "Every  Hand  Shall  Do  Its  Share,"  Quoth 

Peg 70 

IX.     By  the  Sweat  of  Her  Brow 79 

X.  On  the  Broad  Bosom  of  the  ''Happy  in 

Spite" 83 

XI.     What  Happened  to  Jinnie 89 

XII.     Watching 95 

XIII.  What  Jinnie  Found  on  the  Hill  ....       98 

XIV.  "He's  Come  To  Live  with  Us,  Peggy"  .     .     105 

XV.  "Who  Says  the  Kid  Can't  Stay?"  .     .     .     110 

XVI.     Jinnie's  Ear  Gets  a  Tweak 116 

XVII.  Jinnie  Discovers  Her  King's  Throne  .     .     122 

XVIII.     Red  Roses  and  Yellow 129 

XIX.     The  Little  Fiddler 136 

XX.     The  Cobbler's  Secret 145 

XXI.     The  Coming  of  the  Angels 152 

XXII.     Molly's  Discovery 163 

XXIII.     Nobody's  Cat 171 

XXIV.  "He  Might  Even  Marry  Her"  ....     179 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV.  When  Theodore  Forgot 185 

XXVI.  Molly  Asks  To  Be  Forgiven  .     ...     192 

XXVII.  "Haven't  You  Any  Soul?"  ....     196 

XXVIII.  Jinnie  Decides  Against  Theodore  .     .     201 

XXIX.  Peg's  Visit 207 

XXX.  What  the  Fiddle  Told  Theodore    .     .214* 

XXXI.  What  Theodore  Told  His  Friend  .     .     221 

XXXII.  Jordan  Morse's  Plan 227 

XXXIII.  The  Murder 233 

XXXIV.  The  Cobbler's  Arrest 240 

XXXV.  Alone  in  the  Shop 248 

XXXVI.  Jinnie  Explains  the  Death  Chair  to 

Bobbie 

XXXVII.  What  the  Thunder  Storm  Brought      . 

XXXVIII.  The  Story  of  a  Bird 

XXXIX.  Jinnie's  Visit  to  Theodore    .... 

XL.  An  Appeal  to  Jinnie's  Heart  . 

XLI.  Jinnie's  Plea 

XLII.  Bobbie  Takes  a  Trip 

XLIII.  Theodore  Sends  for  Molly  .... 

XLIV.  Molly  Gives  an  Order  to  Jinnie  . 

XLV.  Writing  a  Letter  to  Theodore  .     .     . 

XLVI.  "Bust  'Em  Out" 

XLVII.  Bobbie's  Stars  Renew  Their  Shining 

XLVIII.  For  Bobbie's  Sake 

XLIX.  Back  Home 

L.  "God  Made  You  Mine"  . 

4. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Virginia  left  the  farmhouse,  carrying  her  fiddle 
and  the  pail  of  cats,  and  the  blizzard  swallowed 
her  up Frontispiece 

"I  guess  they  won't  eat  much,  because  Millie 
Ann  catches  all  kind  of  live  things.  I  don't 
like  her  to  do  that,  but  I  heard  she  was  born 
that  way  and  can't  help  it." Page  54 

"You  needn't  feel  so  glad  nor  look  as  if  you  was 
goin'  to  tumble  over.  It  ain't  no  credit  to 
anyone  them  curtains  was  on  the  shelf  waitin' 
to  be  cut  up  in  a  dress  for  you  to  fiddle  in."  Page  135 

"Play  for  me,"  Theodore  said.  "Stand  by  that 

big  tree  so  I  can  look  at  you."  ....  Page  215 


ROSE  O'  PARADISE 


CHAPTER    I 

FATHER      AND      DAUGHTER 

ON  a  hill,  reared  back  from  a  northern  lake,  stood  a 
weather-beaten  farmhouse,  creaking  in  a  heavy  winter 
blizzard.  It  was  an  old-fashioned,  many-pillared  struc- 
ture. The  earmarks  of  hard  winters  and  the  fierce  suns 
of  summer  were  upon  it.  From  the  main  road  it  was 
scarcely  discernible,  settled,  as  it  was,  behind  a  row  of 
pine  trees,  which  in  the  night  wind  beat  and  tossed 
mournfully. 

In  the  front  room,  which  faced  the  porch,  sat  a  man, — 
a  tall,  thin  man,  with  straight,  long  jaws,  and  heavy  over- 
hanging brows.  With  moody  eyes  he  was  staring  into  the 
grate  fire,  a  fearful  expression  upon  his  face. 

He  straightened  his  shoulders,  got  up,  and  paced  the 
floor  back  and  forth,  stopping  now  and  then  to  listen 
expectantly.  Then  again  he  seated  himself  to  wait.  Sev- 
eral times,  passionately  insistent,  he  shook  his  head,  and  it 
was  as  if  the  refusal  were  being  made  to  an  invisible  pres- 
ence. Suddenly  he  lifted  his  face  as  the  sound  of  a  weird, 
wild  wail  was  borne  to  him,  mingling  with  the  elf-like  moan- 
ing of  the  wind.  He  leaned  forward  slightly,  listening  in- 
tently. From  somewhere  above  him  pleading  notes  from 
a  violin  were  making  the  night  even  more  mournful.  A 
change  came  over  the  thin  face. 

9 


10  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "Who's  playing  like 
that?" 

He  crossed  the  room  and  jerked  the  bell-rope  roughly. 
In  a  few  moments  the  head  of  a  middle-aged  colored  woman 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"Did  you  tell  my  daughter  I  wanted  to  see  her?"  ques- 
tioned the  man. 

"No,  sah,  I  didn't.  When  you  got  here  she  wasn't  in. 
Then  she  slid  to  the  garret  afore  I  saw  'er.  Now  she's  got 
to  finish  her  fiddlin'  afore  I  tell  'er  you're  here.  I  never 
bother  Miss  Jinnie  when  she's  fiddlin',  sah."  The  old 
woman  bowed  obsequiously,  as  if  pleading  pardon. 

The  man  made  a  threatening  gesture. 

"Go  immediately  and  send  her  to  me,"  said  he. 

For  perhaps  twenty  minutes  he  sat  there,  his  ears  strain- 
ing to  catch,  through  the  whistling  wind,  the  sounds  of 
that  wild,  unearthly  tune, — a  tune  different  from  any  he 
had  ever  heard.  Then  at  length  it  stopped,  and  he  sank 
back  into  his  chair. 

He  turned  expectantly  toward  the  door.  Footsteps, 
bounding  with  life,  with  strength,  were  bearing  down  upon 
him.  Suddenly  a  girl's  face, — a  rosy,  lovely  face, — with 
rapturous  eyes,  was  turned  up  to  his.  At  the  sight  of 
her  stern  father,  the  girl  stopped,  bringing  her  feet  to- 
gether at  the  heels,  and  bowed.  Then  they  two, — Thomas 
Singleton  the  second  and  Virginia,  his  daughter, — looked 
at  each  other  squarely. 

"Ah,  come  in !"  said  the  man.  "I  want  to  talk  with  you. 
I  believe  you're  called  Virginia." 

"Yes,  sir ;  Jinnie,  for  short,  sir,"  answered  the  girl,  with 
a  slight  inclination  of  her  head. 

Awkwardly,  and  with  almost  an  embarrassed  manner,  she 
walked  in  front  of  the  grate  to  the  chair  pointed  out  to 
her.  The  man  glanced  sharply  at  the  strongly-knit  young 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         11 

figure,  vibrant  with  that  vital  thing  called  ''life."  He 
sighed  and  dropped  back  limply.  There  followed  a  lengthy 
silence,  until  at  last  Thomas  Singleton  shifted  his  feet  and 
spoke  slowly,  with  a  grim  setting  of  his  teeth. 

"I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  Sit  back  farther  in  your 
chair  and  don't  stare  at  me  so." 

His  tones  were  fretful,  like  those  of  a  man  sick  of  living, 
yet  trying  to  live.  He  dropped  his  chin  into  the  palm  of 
his  hand  and  lapsed  into  a  meditative  gloom. 

Virginia  leaned  back,  but  only  in  this  did  she  obey,  for 
her  eyes  were  still  centered  on  the  man  in  silent  attention. 
She  had  little  awe  of  him  within  her  buoyant  young  soul, 
but  much  curiosity  lay  under  the  level,  penetrating  glance 
she  bent  upon  her  father.  Here  was  a  man  who,  according 
to  all  the  human  laws  of  which  Virginia  had  ever  heard, 
belonged  to  her,  and  to  her  alone.  There  were  no  other 
children  and  no  mother.  Yet  so  little  did  she  know  of 
him  that  she  wouldn't  have  recognized  him  had  she  met 
him  in  the  road.  Singleton's  uneasy  glance,  seeking  the 
yellow,  licking  flames  in  the  grate,  crossed  hers. 

"I  told  you  not  to  stare  at  me  so,  child !"  he  repeated. 

This  time  the  violet  eyes  wavered  just  for  an  instant, 
then  fastened  their  gaze  once  more  upon  the  speaker. 

"I  don't  remember  how  you  look,"  she  stammered,  "and 
I'd  like  to  know.  I  can't  tell  if  I  don't  look,  can  I?" 

Her  grave  words,  and  possibly  the  steady,  piercing  gaze, 
brought  a  twitch  to  the  father's  lips.  Surely  his  child  had 
spoken  the  truth.  He  himself  had  almost  forgotten  he  had 
a  girl;  that  she  was  the  only  living  creature  who  had  a 
call  upon  the  slender  thread  of  his  life.  Had  he  lived 
differently,  the  girl  in  front  of  him  would  have  been 
watching  him  for  some  other  reason  than  curiosity. 

"That's  why  I'm  looking  at  you,  sir,"  she  explained. 
"If  any  one  on  the  hills'd  say,  'How's  your  father  looking, 


12  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie?'  if  I  hadn't  looked  at  you  sharp,  sir,  how'd  I 
knov 

She  sighed  as  her  eyes  roved  the  length  of  the  man  once 
more.  The  ashes  in  the  grate  were  no  grayer  than  his 
face. 

•  u'rc  awful  thin  and  white,"  she  observed. 

"I'm  sick,"  replied  Singleton  in  excuse. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  answered  Virginia. 

"You're  quite  grown  up  now,"  remarked  the  man  pres- 
ently, with  a  meditative  air. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!"  she  agreed.  "I'm  a  woman  now.  I'm 
fifteen  years  old." 

:  Will,  will,  you  are  quite  grown  up!     I  heard 

you  playing  just  now.     Where  did  you  ever  learn  such 
music?" 

Jinnie  placed  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "I  got  it  out 
of  here,  sir,"  she  replied  simply. 

Involuntarily  Singleton  straightened  his  rounded  shoul- 
ders, and  a  smile  touched  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  Even 
: -crate  condition  for  the  moment  was  erased 
from  his  mind  in  the  pride  he  felt  in  his  daughter.  Then 
over  him  swept  a  great  regret.  He  had  missed  more  than 
he  had  gained  in  his  travels  abroad,  in  not  living  with 
and  for  the  little  creature  before  him. 

II  I  w»-n-  filled  with  contemplation;  then  the  lovely 

face,  in  it*  exquisite  purity,  saddened  for  a  moment. 

"Matty  i>n't  going  to  take  me  across  her  knee  never 
any  more,"  she  vouchsafed,  a  smile  breaking  like  a  rav  of 

Mills! 

Mouse  slipped  away  from  her  slender  throat,  and 

she  made  a  picture,  vivid  and  In-autiful.      The  fatherhood 

wit  Inn  Tlionms  Singleton  bounded   in  appreciation  as  he 

d  his  daughter  for  a  short   space,  measuring 

accurately   the  worth  within   her.      He   caught   the  won- 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER          13 

derful  appeal  in  the  violet  eyes,  and  wished  to  live.  God, 
how  he  wanted  to  live !  He  would !  He  would !  It  meant 
gathering  his  supremest  strength,  to  be  put  forth  in 
efforts  of  mere  existing.  Something  out  of  an  unknown 
somewhere,  brought  to  him  through  the  stormy,  won- 
derful music  he  had  heard,  made  the  longing  to  live  so 
vehement  that  it  hurt.  Then  the  horror  of  Virginia's 
words  drifted  through  his  tortured  brain. 

"What?"  he  ejaculated. 

"Now  I'm  fifteen,"  explained  the  girl,  "I  get  a  woman's 
beating  with  a  strap,  you  see.  A  while  ago  I  got  one 
that  near  killed  me,  but  I  never  cried  a  tear.  Matty  was 
almost  scared  to  death;  she  thought  I  was  dead.  Matty 
can  lick  hard,  Matty  can." 

Virginia  sighed  in  recollection. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  the  nigger  whipped  you?" 

The  girl   shook  her  curly  head. 

"Whipped  me!  No!  Matty  don't  whip;  she  just  licks 
with  all  her  muscle.  .  .  .  Matty's  muscle's  as  strong  as 
a  tree  limb." 

Mr.  Singleton  bowed  his  head.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  in  all  those  absent  years  that  the  child  was  being 
abused.  How  simply  she  had  told  her  tale  of  suffering! 

"But  I'm  fifteen  now,"  she  repeated  gladly,  "so  I  stand 
up,  spread  my  feet  like  this" — she  rose  and  suited  the 
action  to  the  words — "and  Matty  lays  her  on  damn  hard, 
too." 

He  covered  his  mouth  with  one  thin  hand,  choked  down 
a  cough,  and  endeavored  to  change  the  subject. 

"And  school?    Have  you  been  to  school?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  assured  the  girl,  sitting  down  again.  "I 
went  to  school  back  in  the  hills.  There  were  only  five 
boys  and  me.  There  wasn't  any  girls.  I  wish  there  had 
been." 


u  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"You  like  girls,  I  imagine,  then,"  said  her  father. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  Yes,  indeed,  sir!  I  often  walk  five 
miles  to  play  a  while  with  one.  None  of  the  mothers 
around  Mottville  Corners'll  let  their  girls  be  with  me. 
You  see,  this  house  has  a  bad  name." 

A  deep  crimson  dyed  the  man's  ashen  skin.  He  made 
as  if  to  speak,  but  Jinnie  went  on. 

"Over  in  the  Willow  Creek  settlement  the  kids  are  awful 
bad,  but  I  get  along  with  'em  fine,  because  I  love  'em 
right  out  of  being  hellish." 

She  was  gazing  straight  into  her  father's  face  in  all 
sincerity,  with  no  trace  of  embarrassment. 

"You  know  Mrs.  Barker,  the  housekeeper  you  left  me 
with?"  she  demanded  a  little  later.  "Well,  she  died  when 
I  was  ten.  Matty  stayed,  thinking  every  day  you'd  come 
home.  I  suppose  mebbe  I  did  grow  up  sort  of  cussed,  and 
I  suppose  everybody  thinks  I'm  bad  because  I've  only  a 
nigger  to  live  with,  and  no  mother,  not — not  even  you" 

Singleton  partly  smothered  an  oath  which  lengthened 
into  a  groan,  looked  long  at  the  slim  young  figure, 
fit  the  piquant  face. 

".hi^t  lutrly  I've  been  wanting  some  one  of  my  own  to 
love,"  she  pursued.  "I  only  had  Milly  and  her  cats.  Then 
tin-  letter  mine  saving  you'd  be  here — and  I'm  very  glad." 
-mile  lighting  her  face  and  playing  with  the  dimples 
in  her  cli<-«-ks  made  Thomas  Singleton  feel  as  if  Heaven's 
breath  had  touched  him. 

"Do  you  care  at  all  for  me?"  he  asked  gloomily. 

li.-id  come  over  him  a  desire  that  this  winsome 
girl, — winsome   in   spite  of  her   crudity, — would   say  she 
did.      \VoiK it  r,   lovr,   sympathy,   were   alive   in   her  eyes. 
>dd<  d  IK  r  head. 

"Oh,  yi-*.  M>!"  she  murmured.  "Of  course  I  love  you! 
I  couldn't  tell  you  how  much.  ...  I  love — why,  I  even 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         15 

love  Mose.  Mose's  Matty's  man.  He  stole  and  et  up  all 
our  chickens — but  I  love  him  just  the  same.  I  felt  sorry 
about  his  killing  the  hens,  because  I  loved  them  too." 

"I  see,"  sighed  the  father. 

"Now  there's  Molly — I  call  her  Molly  the  Merry ' 

"Who's  Molly  the  Merry?"  interrupted  Singleton. 

"Old  Merriweather's  daughter.  She's  prettier  than  the 
summer  roses,  and  they're  pretty,  believe  me.  Her  smiles're 
warmer'n  the  sun." 

"Ah,  yes !  I  remember  the  Merriweathers.  Is  the  old 
man  still  alive?" 

"Well,  yes,  but  he's  as  good  as  dead,  though.  Ain't 
walked  in  three  years.  And  Matty's  man,  Mose,  told 
Matty,  and  Matty  told  me,  he's  meaner'n  forty  damn 
devils." 

"So  you  swear,  too?"  asked  the  father,  breathing 
deeply. 

Virginia  opened  wide  and  wider  two  sparkling  blue  eyes. 

"Swear,  sir?"  she  protested.     "I  didn't  swear." 

"Pardon  me,"  replied  Singleton,  laconically.  "I  thought 
I  heard  you  say  'damn'  several  times." 

Virginia's  smile  showed  two  rows  of  white  teeth. 

"Oh,  so  you  did!"  she  laughed,  rising.  "But  'damn' 
isn't  swearing.  You  ought  to  hear  me  really  swear  some- 
times. Shall  I  show  you  how  I — I  can  swear?" 

Singleton  shook  his  head. 

"I'd  rather  you  wouldn't!  .  .  .  Sit  down  again, 
please." 

The  man  at  intervals  turned  a  pair  of  burning  bright 
eyes  upon  her.  They  weren't  unlike  her  own  eyes,  only 
their  expression  puzzled  Virginia. 

She  could  not  understand  the  rapid  changes  in  her 
father.  He  wasn't  the  man  she  had  mentally  known  all 
these  years.  But  then,  all  she  had  had  by  which  to  visual- 


16  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

ize  him  was  an  old  torn  picture,  turned  face  to  the  wall  in 
the  garret.  He  didn't  look  at  all  like  the  painting — he 
was  thinner,  older,  and  instead  of  the  tender  expression 
on  the  handsome,  boyish  face,  time  had  placed  one  of 
bitterness,  anxiety,  and  dread.  He  sat,  crouched  for- 
ward, stirring  the  grate  fire,  seemingly  lost  in  thought. 
Virginia  remained  quiet  until  he  was  ready  to  speak. 

"I'm  going  to  die  soon, — very  soon." 

It  was  only  natural  that  Virginia  should  show  how  his 
statement  shocked  her.  She  grew  deathly  white,  and  an 
expression  of  misery  knit  the  lovely  young  face. 

"How  soon?"  she  shivered,  drawing  back. 

"Perhaps  to-night — perhaps  not  for  weeks,  but  I  must 
tell  you  something  before  then." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Virginia,  "all  right.  ...  I'm 
here." 

"I  haven't  been  a  good  father  to  you,"  the  man  began 
after  a  pause,  "and  I'm  not  sure  I  could  do  better  if  I 
should  stay  on  here  with  you.  So  I  might  as  well  go 
now  as  any  time !  Your  mother  would've  done  differently 
if  she'd  lived.  You  look  some  like  her." 

'I'm  sorry  I  don't  remember  her,"  remarked  Virginia 
apologetically. 

"She  went  away  when  you  were  too  little  even  to  know 
Then  I  left  you,  too,  though  I  don't  suppose  any 
one  but  her  could  have  made  you  happy." 

"Oh,  I've  been  happy!"  Jinnie  asserted.  "Old  Aunt 
Matty  and  the  cats're  all  I  need  around,  and  I  always 
have  my  fiddle.  .  I  found  it  in  the  garret." 

It  was  easy  to  believe  that  she  was  telling  the  truth, 

to  all  appearances   she  looked  happy   and  healthy. 

rever,  Mr.   Singleton's   eyes  darkened   and   saddened 

»der  the  words.     Nothing,  perhaps,  had  ever  touched 

mm  so  deeply. 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER          17 

"It's  no  life  for  a  girl  of  fifteen  years  to  live  with  cats 
and  niggers,"  he  muttered. 

One  less  firmly  faithful  to  conscience  would  have  acqui- 
esced in  this  truthful  statement;  not  so  Virginia. 

"Matty's  a  good  nigger!"  she  insisted,  passionately. 
"She'd  do  anything  she  could  for  me !" 

Seemingly  the  man  was  not  impressed  by  this,  for  his 
strong  jaws  were  set  and  unyielding  upon  the  unlighted 
cigar  clenched  between  his  teeth. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  to-night  as  to-morrow,"  he 
concluded,  dropping  the  cigar  on  the  table.  "Your  mother 
left  you  her  money  and  property  when  she  died." 

"I  know  it,  sir,  and  it's  a  lot,  too !  Matty  told  me 
about  it  one  night  along  with  'er  ghost  stories,  sir.  .  .  . 
Ever  heard  Matty's  ghost  stories,  sir?" 

"No,  but  I  didn't  bring  you  here  to  talk  about  Matty. 
And  tell  me,  what  makes  you  say  'sir'  to  me  all  the  time?" 

His  impatient  tone,  his  sharp,  rasping  voice,  didn't 
change  Virginia's  respectful  attitude.  She  only  bent  her 
head  a  trifle  and  replied: 

"Anybody  must  always  say  'sir'  to  another  body  when 
she's  kind  of  half  afraid  of  him,  sir." 

She  was  composed  for  a  moment,  then  went  on: 

"It  isn't  every  day  your  father  comes  home,  sir,,  and 
I've  waited  a  long,  long  time.  I'd  be  a  hell  of  a  kid  if  I 
couldn't  muster  up  a  'sir'  for  you." 

Singleton  glanced  sidewise  at  his  young  daughter,  bend- 
ing his  brows  together  in  a  frown. 

"You're  a  queer  sort  of  a  girl,  but  I  suppose  it's  to  be 
expected  when  you've  only  lived  with  niggers.  .  .  .  Now 
will  you  remember  something  if  I  tell  it  to  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  breathed  Virginia,  drawing  back  a  little 
from  his  strong  emotion. 

"Well,  this !     Don't  ever  say  'sir'  to  any  human  being 


18  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

living!  Don't  ever!  Do  you  understand  me?  What  I 
mean  U,  wlu-n  you  say  'sir,'  it's  as  if  you  were — as  if  you 
were  a  servant  or  afraid — you  make  yourself  menial.  Can 
you  remember,  child.'" 

"Yes,  sir, — yes,  I'll  remember.  ...  I  think  I'll  re- 
member." 

"If  you're  going  to  accomplish  anything  in  the  world, 
don't  be  afraid  of  any  one." 

A  dozen  explanations,  like  so  many  birds,  fluttered 
through  Virginia's  mind.  Before  her  rose  her  world  of 
yesterday,  and  a  sudden  apology  leapt  to  her  lips.  She 
turned  on  her  father  a  wondering,  sober  glance. 

"I've  never  said  'sir'  or  'ma'am*  before  in  all  my  life — 
never!"  she  remarked. 

"So  you're  afraid  of  me?" 
"A  little,"  she  sighed. 

"Ah,  don't  be,  child !  I'm  your  father.  Will  you  keep 
that  in  mind?" 

"I'll  try  to;  I  will,  sure." 
Mr.  Singleton  shifted  uneasily,  as  if  in  pain. 
"This  money  is  coming  to  you  when  you're  eighteen 
v<  nrs  old,"  explained  Mr.  Singleton.  "My  dying  will  throw 
you  into  an  ocean  of  difficulties.     I  guess  the  only  service 
I've  ever  done  you  has  been  to  keep  your  Uncle  Jordan 
from  you." 

"Matty  told  me  about  him,  too,"  she  offered.  "He's  a 
damn  bad  duffer,  isn't  he,  mistcrr" 

,  HIM!  I'm  going  to  ask  you  not  to  call  me  'mister,' 
cither.  Look  here!  .  .  .  I'm  your  father!  Can't  any- 
thing gi-t  that  into  your  head?" 

••ep  forgetting  it,"  answered  the  girl  sadly.  "And 
you're  so  big  and  thin  and  different  from  any  man  I  know. 

i  look  as  weak  as  a — as  a  cat." 
She  stretched  forth  her  two  strong  legs,  but  sank  back. 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         19 

"Yes,  your  Uncle  Jordan  is  bad,"  proceeded  Singleton, 
presently,  "bad  enough  to  want  to  get  us  both  out  of  the 
way,  and  he  wouldn't  find  much  of  an  obstacle  in  you." 

A  clammy  chill  clutched  at  Virginia's  heart  like  tight- 
ening fingers.  The  import  of  his  words  burned  deep 
within  her.  She  got  to  her  feet — but  reseated  herself  at 
once  at  a  wave  of  her  father's  hand.  The  thought  of 
death  always  had  a  sobering  effect  upon  her — it  filled  her 
with  longing,  yet  dread.  The  beautiful  young  mother, 
whose  picture  hung  in  the  best  room,  and  whose  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  in  every  direction,  was  dead.  Matty  had  told 
her  many  times  just  how  her  mother  had  gone,  and  how 
often  the  gentle  spirit  had  returned  to  hover  over  the 
beloved  young  daughter.  Now  the  memory  of  it  was  en- 
hanced by  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  dismal  moaning 
of  the  tall  pines.  Virginia  firmly  believed  that  her  mother, 
among  other  unearthly  visitants,  walked  in  the  night 
when  the  blizzard  kept  up  its  incessant  beating.  She  also 
believed  that  the  sound  through  the  pines — that  roaring, 
ever-changing,  unhuman  sound — was  not  of  the  wind's 
making.  It  was  voices, — spirit  voices, — voices  of  the 
dead,  of  those  who  had  gone  down  into  the  small  ceme- 
tery beyond  the  road. 

Only  the  day  before  Matty  had  told  her  how,  one  night, 
a  tall,  wandering  white  thing  had  walked  in  silence  across 
the  fields  to  Jonathan  Woggles'  house.  In  the  story, 
Jonathan's  grandpa  was  about  to  pass  away.  The  glit- 
tering spirit  stalked  around  and  around  the  house,  waiting 
for  the  old  man's  soul.  She  was  about  to  relate  the  tale 
when  her  father  repeated: 

"Your  uncle  is  bad  enough  to  want  us  out  of  the  way." 

The  shuddering  chill  again  possessed  her.  She  was  torn 
between  horror  and  eagerness — horror  of  what  might  be 
and  eagerness  to  escape  it. 


20  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"But  he  can't  get  us  out,  can  he?"  she  questioned. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  he  can  and  will!  Your  Uncle  Jor- 
dan is  your  mother's  stepbrother,  no  direct  rela- 
tion to  you,  but  the  only  one  left  to  look  after  you 
in  the  world  but  me.  If  you've  any  desire  to  live,  you 
must  leave  here  after  I've  gone,  and  that's  all  there  is 
to  it!" 

Virginia  then  understood,  for  the  first  time,  something 
of  the  danger  menacing  her.  Her  heart  beat  and  pounded 
like  an  engine  ploughing  up  hill.  From  sheer  human  de- 
sire of  self-preservation,  she  partly  rose  from  the  chair, 
with  the  idea  of  immediate  departure. 

"I  could  go  with  Matty,  couldn't  I?"  she  suggested. 

Mr.  Singleton  made  a  negative  gesture  with  his  head, 
flinging  himself  down  again. 

"M:itty?  Matty,  the  nigger?  No,  of  course  not. 
Matty  is  nothing  to  any  one  who  hasn't  money,  and  you'll 
have  none  to  pay  her,  or  any  one  else,  after  I'm  gone. 
You  must  eat  and  live  for  three  long  years.  Do  you 
understand  that?  .  .  .  Sit  back  in  your  chair  and  don't 
fidget,"  he  concluded. 

The  girl  obeyed,  and  a  silence  fell  between  them.  The 
thought  of  the  wonderful  white  presence  of  which  Matty 
had  told  her  faded  from  her  mind.  Her  heart  lay  stone- 
like  below  her  tightening  throat,  for  her  former  world 
and  all  the  dear  familiar  things  it  held  were  to  be 
dashed  from  her,  as  a  rose  jar  is  broken  on  a  marble 
floor,  by  a  single  decision  of  the  thin,  tall  father 
whom  yesterday  she-  had  not  known.  She  understood  that 
if  her  uncle  succeeded  in  his  wicked  plans,  she,  too,  would 
join  that  small  number  of  people,  dead  and  buried,  under 
! 'in.  ...  H.-r  father's  words  brought  the  cemetery,  with 
its  broken  cross  and  headstones,  its  low  toolhouse,  and  the 
restless  night  spirits,  closer  than  Matty,  with  her  vivid, 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         21 

ghastly  tales,  had  ever  done.  In  the  past,  Matty  had 
stood  between  her  and  her  fears ;  in  the  future,  there 
would  be  only  a  stranger,  her  uncle,  the  man  her  father 
had  just  warned  her  against.  At  length  Mr.  Singleton 
coughed  painfully,  and  spoke  with  evident  effort. 

"The  doctor  told  me  not  long  ago  I  might  die  at  any 
moment.  That's  what  made  me  escape — I  mean,  what 
drove  me  home." 

He  rose  and  walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  room. 

"The  doctor  made  me  think  of  you.     I  can't  live  long." 

"It's  awful  bad,"  answered  the  girl,  sighing.  "I 
wouldn't  know  where  to  go  if  there  wasn't  any  Matty — 
or — you." 

Her  voice  lowered  on  the  last  word,  and  she  continued: 
"I  wish  I  had  my  mother.  Matty  says  mothers  kiss  their 
girls  and  make  over  'em  like  Milly  Ann  does  with  her  kit- 
tens— do  they?  Some  of  'em?" 

The  father  glanced  curiously  into  the  small,  earnest, 
uplifted  face. 

"I  couldn't  help  being  your  girl,"  pursued  Virginia. 
"I'd  have  had  another  father  if  I  could,  one  who'd  've 
loved  me.  Matty  says  even  fathers  like  their  kids  some- 
times— a  little."  She  paused  a  minute,  a  wan,  sweet  smile 
passing  over  her  lips.  "But  I've  got  Milly  Ann  and  her 
kittens,  and  they're  soft  and  warm  and  wriggley." 

What  a  strange  child  was  this  daughter  of  his !  She 
spoke  of  cats  as  if  they  were  babies ;  of  loving  as  if  it  were 
universal.  Each  moment,  in  her  presence,  he  realized 
more  and  more  what  he  had  missed  in  thus  neglecting  her. 
But  he  had  hurried  to  Mottville  from  foreign  lands  to 
perform  one  duty,  at  least, — to  save  her,  if  possible.  So 
he  returned  to  his  vital  subject. 

"Your  Uncle  Jordan's  coming,  perhaps  this  week.  He's 
found  out  I'm  here !  That's  why  you  must  go  away." 


22  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"Shall  I — just  go?"  queried  Virginia.  "I  don't  know 
of  any  special  place — do  you?"  and  she  shivered  again  as 
the  wind,  in  a  fierce  gust,  blew  out  from  the  slumbering 
fire  a  wreath  of  smoke  that  encircled  the  room  and  hung 
grey-blue  about  the  ceiling. 

"I  only  know  one  man,"  reflected  Mr.  Singleton,  pres- 
ently, "and  you'll  have  to  find  him  yourself — after  I've 
gone,  of  course ;  but  if  Jordan  Morse  should  come,  you'd 
have  to  go  quickly." 

"I'd  go  faster'n  anything,"  decided  the  girl,  throwing 
up  her  head. 

"Your  mother's  father  used  to  have  a  family  in  his 
tenement  house  on  this  place,  and  they  were  all  very  fond 
of  her  when  she  was  a  girl.  One  of  the  sons  moved  to 
Bellaire.  He's  the  only  one  left,  and  would  help  you,  I 
know." 

'  \Mrbbe  if  you'd  talk  to  my  uncle "  Virginia  cut  in. 

An  emphatic  negative  gesture  frightened  her. 

"You  don't  know  him,"  said  Singleton,  biting  his  lips. 
"He's  nearer  being  a  devil  than  any  other  human  being." 
It  was  a  feeling  of  bitterness,  of  the  deadly  wrong  done 
him,  that  forced  him  to  sarcasm.  "The  great — the  good 
Jordan  Morse — bah !"  he  sneered.  "If  he's  'good,'  so  are 
fiends  from  perdition." 

He  sent  the  last  words  out  between  his  teeth  as  if  he 
loathed  the  idea  expressed  in  them.  If  they  brought  a 
•ombre  red  to  the  girl's  cheeks,  it  was  not  because  she 
did  not  have  sympathy  with  him. 

Sudden  leaping  flames  of  passion  yellowed  the  man's 
eyes,  and  he  staggered  up. 

"May  God  damn  the  best  in  him!  May  all  he  loves 
wither  and  blight!  May  black  Heaven  break  his 
-t »» 

Jinnie  sprang  forward  and  clutched  him  fiercely  by  the 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         23 

arm.  "Don't!  Don't!"  she  implored.  "That's  awful, 
awful !" 

Singleton  sank  back,  brushing  his  foaming  lips  with  the 
back  of  his  hand. 

"Well,"  he  muttered,  "he  followed  me  abroad  and  did 
for  me  over  there!" 

"Did  for  you  ?"  Virginia  repeated  after  him,  parrot-like, 
gazing  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way  as  she  sat  down  again. 

"Yes,  me!  If  I'd  had  any  sense,  I  might  have  known 
his  game.  In  the  state  of  his  finances  he'd  no  business  to 
come  over  at  all.  But  I  didn't  know  until  he  got  there 
how  evil  he  was.  Oh,  God!  I  wish  I  had — but  I  didn't, 

.  and  now  my  only  work  left  is  to  send  you  somewhere 

Oh,  why  didn't  I  know?" 

The  deep  sadness,  the  longing  in  his  voice  brought  Vir- 
ginia to  her  feet  once  more.  She  wanted  to  do  something 
for  the  thin,  sick  man  because  she  loved  him — just  that! 
Years  of  neglect  had  failed  to  kill  in  the  young  heart  the 
cherished  affection  for  her  absent  parent,  and  in  some 
subtle  way  he  now  appealed  to  the  mother  within  her,  as 
all  sick  men  do  to  all  heart-women. 

"I'd  like  to  help  you  if  I  could,  father,"  she  said. 

The  man,  with  a  quick,  spasmodic  action,  drew  her  to 
him.  Never  had  he  seen  such  a  pair  of  eyes !  They  re- 
minded him  of  Italian  skies  under  which  he  had  dreamed 
brave  dreams — dreamed  dreams  which  would  ever  be 
dreams.  The  end  of  them  now  was  the  grave. 

"Little  girl !  My  little  girl !"  he  murmured,  caressing 
her  shoulders.  Then  he  caught  himself  sharply,  crushing 
the  sentiment  from  his  voice. 

"Hide  yourself;  change  your  name;  do  anything  to 
keep  from  your  uncle.  When  you're  old  enough  to  handle 
your  own  affairs,  you  can  come  out  of  your  hiding-place — 
do  you  understand  me?" 


24  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I  think  I  do,"  she  said,  tears  gathering  under  her  lids. 

"I  don't  know  of  any  one  I  could  trust  in  this  county. 
Jordan  Morse  would  get  'em  all  under  his  spell.  That 

would  be  the  last  of  you.  For  your  mother's  sake " 

His  lips  quivered,  but  he  went  on  with  a  masterful  effort 
to  choke  down  a  sob, — "I  may  honestly  say,  for  your  own 
sake,  I  want  you  to  live  and  do  well." 

There  was  some  strain  in  his  passionate  voice  that 
stirred  terrific  emotion  in  the  girl,  awakening  new,  tumul- 
tuous impulses.  It  gave  her  a  mad  desire  to  do  something, 
something  for  her  father,  something  for  herself.  At  that 
moment  she  loved  him  very  much  indeed  and  was  ready  to 
go  to  any  length  to  help  him.  He  had  told  her  she  must 
leave.  Perhaps 

Virginia  glanced  through  the  window  into  the  darkness. 
Through  the  falling  snow  she  could  see  a  giant  pine  throw 
out  appealing  arms.  They  were  like  beckoning,  sentient 
beings  to  the  girl,  who  loved  nature  with  all  the  passion- 
ate strength  of  her  young  being.  Yet  to-night  they  filled 
her  with  new  wonder, — an  awe  she  had  never  felt  before. 
Despite  her  onrushing  thoughts,  she  tried  to  calm  her 
mind,  to  say  with  eager  emphasis : 

"Shall  I  run  to-night — now?" 

"No,  not  to-night;  don't  leave  me  yet.  Sit  down  in 
the  chair  again ;  stay  until  I  tell  you." 

"All  right,"  murmured  Virginia,  walking  away. 

The  father  watched  the  fire  a  few  minutes. 

"I'll  give  you  a  letter  to  Grandoken,  Lafe  Grandoken," 
he  said  presently,  looking  up.  "For  your  mother's  sake 
he'll  take  you,  and  some  day  you  can  repay  him.  You 
see  it's  this  way:  Your  mother  trusted  your  uncle  more 
than  she  did  me,  or  she'd  never  have  given  you  into  his 
care  in  case  of  my  death.  Well,  he's  got  me,  and  he'll 
get  you." 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         25 

With  no  thought  of  disobedience,  Virginia  slipped  from 
the  chair  to  her  feet. 

"He  won't  get  me  if  I  run  now,  will  he?"  she  questioned 
breathlessly;  "not  if  I  go  to — what'd  you  say  his  name 
was?" 

She  was  all  excitement,  ready  to  do  whatever  she  was 
bidden.  Slowly,  as  she  stood  there,  the  tremendous  sus- 
pense left  her. 

"Why  couldn't  we  both  go,  you  and  me?"  she  en- 
treated eagerly.  "Let's  both  go  to-night.  I'll  take  care 
of  you.  I'll  see  you  don't  get  wet." 

Her  glance  met  and  held  his  for  a  few  seconds.  The 
vibrant  voice  thrilled  and  stirred  the  father  as  if  he  had 
been  dead  and  suddenly  slipped  back  to  life  again.  A 
brave  smile,  tenderly  sweet,  broke  over  Virginia's  lips. 

"Come,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hands.  "Come,  I'll 
get  my  fiddle  and  we'll  go." 

He  was  struck  by  the  vehemence  of  her  appeal.  He 
allowed  himself  to  listen  for  a  moment — to  overbalance 
all  his  preconceived  plans,  but  just  then  his  past  life, 
Jordan  Morse,  his  own  near  approaching  end,  sank  into 
his  mind,  and  the  fire  in  his  eyes  went  out.  There  was 
finality  in  the  shake  of  his  shoulders. 

"No,  no,"  he  murmured,  sinking  back.  "It's  too  late 
for  me.  I  couldn't  earn  money  enough  to  feed  a  pup. 
I'm  all  to  pieces — no  more  good  to  any  one.  No,  you'll 
have  to  go  alone." 

"I'm  sorry."  The  girl  caught  her  breath  in  disap- 
pointment. She  was  crying  softly  and  made  no  effort  to 
wipe  away  her  tears. 

The  silent  restraint  was  broken  only  by  the  ticking  of 
the  shadowy  clock  on  the  mantel  and  Virginia's  broken 
sobs.  She  stifled  them  back  as  her  father  spoke  com- 
fortingly. 


"Well,  well,  there,  don't  cry !  If  your  mother'd  lived, 
we'd  all  've  been  better." 

"I  wish  she  had,"  gasped  the  girl,  making  a  dash  at 
her  eyes.  "I  wish  she'd  stayed  so  I'd  've  had  her  to  love. 
Perhaps  I'd  've  had  you,  too,  then." 

"There's  no  telling,"  answered  Singleton,  drawing  up 
to  his  desk  and  beginning  to  write. 

Virginia  watched  the  pen  move  over  the  white  page  for 
a  space,  her  mind  filled  with  mixed  emotions.  Then  she 
turned  her  eyes  from  her  father  to  the  grate  as  a  whirl 
of  ashes  and  smoke  came  out. 

Matty's  story  came  back  to  her  mind,  and  she  glanced 
toward  the  window,  but  back  to  the  fire  quickly.  The 
blizzard  seemed  to  rage  in  sympathy  with  her  own  riot- 
ous thoughts.  As  another  gust  of  wind  rattled  the  case- 
ments and  shook  down  showers  of  soot  from  the  chimney, 
Virginia  turned  back  to  the  writer. 

"It's  the  ghosts  of  my  mother's  folks  that  make  that 
noise,"  she  confided  gently. 

"Keep  quiet!"  ordered  Singleton,  frowning. 

After  the  letters  were  finished  and  sealed,  Mr.  Single- 
ton spoke.  "There!  I've  done  the  best  I  can  for  you 
under  the  circumstances.  Now  on  this," — he  held  up  a 
piece  of  paper — "I've  written  just  how  you're  to  reach 
Grandoken's  in  Bellaire.  These  letters  you're  to  give  to 
him.  This  one  let  him  open  and  read."  Mr.  Singleton 
tapped  a  letter  he  held  up.  "In  this  one,  I've  written 
what  your  uncle  did  to  me.  Give  it  to  Grandoken,  telling 
him  I  said  to  let  it  remain  sealed  unless  Jordan  Morse 
claims  you.  If  you  reach  eighteen  safely,  burn  the  letter." 

He  paused  and  took  out  a  pocketbook. 

"Money  is  scarce  these  days,  but  take  this  and  it'll  get 
you  to  Grandoken's.  It's  all  I  have,  anyway.  Now  go 
along  to  bed." 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER         27 

He  handed  the  envelopes  to  her,  and  his  hand  came  in 
contact  with  hers.  The  very  touch  of  it,  the  warmth  and 
life  surging  through  her,  gave  a  keener  edge  to  his  misery. 

Virginia  took  the  letters  and  money.  She  walked 
slowly  to  the  door.  At  the  threshold  she  halted,  turning 
to  her  father. 

"May  I  take  the  cats  with  me?"  she  called  back  to  him. 

She  started  to  explain,  but  he  cut  her  words  off  with  a 
fierce  ejaculation. 

"Hell,  yes !"  he  snapped.    "Damn  the  cats !    Get  out !" 

Once  in  the  hall,  Virginia  stood  and  looked  back  upon 
the  closed  door. 

"I  guess  he  don't  need  me  to  teach  him  swear  words," 
she  told  herself  in  a  whisper. 

Then  she  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  where  Matty  sat 
dreaming  over  a  wood  fire. 


CHAPTER    II 

A     WHITE      PRESENCE 

"Doss  yer  pa  want  me?"  grunted  Matty,  lifting  a 
tousled  black  head. 

Virginia  made  a  gesture  of  negation. 

"No,  he  told  me  to  get  the  hell  out,"  she  answered.  "So 
I  got !  He's  awful  sick !  I  guess  mebbe  he'll  die !" 

Matty  nodded  meaningly. 

"Some  folks  might  better  'a*  stayed  to  hum  for  the  past 
ten  years  than  be  runnin'  wild  over  the  country  like  mad," 
she  observed. 

Virginia  reached  behind  the  stove  and  drew  Milly  Ann 
from  her  bed. 

"Father" — Jinnie  enjoyed  using  the  word  and  spoke  it 
lingeringly — "says  he  wishes  he'd  stayed  here  now.  You 

know,  my  Uncle  Jordan,  Matty She  hesitated  to 

confide  in  the  negro  woman  what  her  father  had  told  her. 
So  she  contented  herself  with: 

"He's  coming  here  soon." 

Matty  rolled  her  eyes  toward  the  girl. 

"I'se  sorry  for  that,  honey  bunch."  Then,  without  ex- 
plaining her  words, .  asked :  "Want  me  to  finish  about 
Jonathan  Woggles'  grandpa  dyin'?" 

But  Virginia's  mind  was  traveling  in  another  channel. 

•  NVhere's  Bellaire,  Matty?"  she  demanded. 

"Off  south,"  replied  the  woman,  "right  bearin'  south." 

"By  train?" 


29 

"Yes,  the  same's  walkin'  or  fljin',"  confirmed  Matty. 
"Jest  the  same." 

"Then  you  can  finish  the  story  now,  Matty,"  said  Vir- 
ginia presently. 

Matty  settled  back  in  her  chair,  closed  her  eyes,  and 
began  to  hum. 

"How  far'd  I  tell  last  night?"  she  queried,  blinking. 

"Just  to  where  the  white  thing  was  waiting  for  Grandpa 
Woggles'  spirit,"  explained  Virginia. 

"Oh,  yas.  Well,  round  and  round  that  house  the  white 
shadder  swep',  keepin'  time  to  the  howlin'  of  other  spirits 
in  the  pine  trees " 

"But  there  aren't  any  pine  trees  at  Woggles',"  objected 
Virginia. 

"Well,  they'd  be  pines  if  they  wasn't  oaks,"  assured 
Matty.  "Oaks  or  pines,  the  spirits  live  in  'em  jest  the 
same." 

"I  'spose  so,"  agreed  Virginia.     "Go  on!" 

"An5  round  and  round  he  went,  meltin'  the  snow  with 
his  hot  feet,"  mused  Matty,  sniffing  the  air.  "And  in  the 
house  Betty  Woggles  set  beside  the  old  man,  holdin'  his 
hand,  askin'  him  to  promise  he  wouldn't  die.  .  .  .  Hum ! 
As  if  a  human  bein'  could  keep  from  the  stalkin'  whiteness 
beckonin'  from  the  graveyard.  'Tain't  in  human  power." 

"Can't  anybody  keep  death  away,  Matty?"  inquired 
Virginia,  an  expression  of  awe  clouding  her  eyes. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  man  upstairs  whom  she  but 
twice  had  called  "father." 

"Nope,  not  after  the  warnin'  comes  to  him.  Now 
Grandad  Woggles  had  that  warnin'  as  much  as  three  days 
afore  the  angel  clim'  the  fence  and  flopped  about  his 
house.  But  don't  keep  breakin'  in  on  me,  little  missy, 
'cause  I  cain't  finish  if  ye  do,  and  I'se  jest  reachin'  the 
thrillin'  part." 


30  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"Oh,  then  hurry,"  urged  Jinnie. 

"Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  Betty  set  by  the  ole  man,  starin* 
into  his  yeller  face;  'twas  as  yeller  as  Milly  Ann's  back, 
his  face  was." 

"Some  yeller,"  murmured  Virginia,  fondling  Milly  Ann. 

"Sure!    Everybody  dyin'  gets  yeller,"  informed  Matty. 

Virginia  thought  again  of  the  sick  man  upstairs.  His 
face  was  white,  not  yellow,  and  her  heart  bounded  with 
great  hope.  He  might  live  yet  a  little  while.  Yes,  he 
surely  would!  Matty  was  an  authority  when  she  told  of 
the  dead  and  dying,  of  the  spirits  which  filled  the  pine 
trees,  and  it  seldom  occurred  to  Virginia  to  doubt  the  black 
woman's  knowledge.  She  wanted  her  father  to  live !  Life 
seemed  so  dizzily  upset  with  no  Matty,  with  no  Milly  Ann, 
and  no — father,  somewhere  in  the  world.  Matty's  next 
words,  spoken  in  a  sepulchral  whisper,  bore  down  on  her 
with  emphasis. 

"Then  what  do  ye  think,  honey  bunch?" 

"I  don't  know !"    Virginia  leaned  forward  expectantly. 

"Jest  as  Betty  was  hangin'  fast  onto  her  grandpa's 
spirit,  another  ghost,  some  spots  of  black  on  him,  come 
right  longside  the  white  one,  wavin'  his  hands's  if  he 
wag  goin'  to  fly." 

Virginia  sat  up  very  straight.  Two  spirits  on  the  scene 
of  Grandpa  Woggles'  passing  made  the  story  more  inter- 
esting, more  thrilling.  Her  sparkling  eyes  gave  a  new 
impetus  to  the  colored  woman's  wagging  tongue. 

"The  white  spirit,  he  sez,  'What  you  hangin'  round  here 
fer?'" 

Matty  rolled  her  eyes  upward.  "This  he  sez  to  the 
black  one,  mind  you!" 

Virginia  nodded  comprehendingly,  keeping  her  eyes 
glued  on  the  shining  dark  face  in  front  of  her.  She  always 
dreaded,  during  the  exciting  parts  of  Matty's  nightly 


A  WHITE  PRESENCE  31 

stories,  to  see,  by  chance,  the  garden,  with  its  trees  and 
the  white,  silent  graveyard  beyond.  And,  although  she 
had  no  fear  of  tangible  things,  she  seldom  looked  out  of 
doors  when  Matty  crooned  over  her  ghost  stories. 

Just  then  a  bell  pealed  through  the  house. 

Matty  rose  heavily. 

"It's  yer  pa,"  she  grumbled.  "I'll  finish  when  I  git 
back." 

Through  the  door  the  woman  hobbled,  while  Virginia 
bent  over  Milly  Ann,  stroking  her  softly  with  a  new  ex- 
pression of  gravity  on  the  young  face.  Many  a  day,  in 
fancy,  she  had  dreamed  of  her  father's  homecoming.  He 
was  very  different  than  her  dreams.  Still  she  hoped  the 
doctor  might  have  made  a  mistake  about  his  dying.  A 
smile  came  to  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  touched  the 
dimples  in  her  cheek,  but  did  not  wipe  the  tragedy  from 
her  eyes.  She  was  planning  how  tenderly  she  would  care 
for  him,  how  cheerful  he'd  be  when  she  played  her  fiddle 
for  him. 

She  heard  Matty  groping  up  the  stairs — heard  her  pass 
down  the  hall  and  open  the  door.  Then  suddenly  she 
caught  the  sound  of  hurried  steps  and  the  woman  coming 
down  again.  Matty  had  crawled  up,  but  was  almost  fall- 
ing down  in  her  frantic  haste  to  reach  the  kitchen.  Some- 
thing unusual  had  happened.  Virginia  shoved  Milly  Ann 
to  the  floor  and  stood  up.  Matty's  appearance,  with 
chattering  teeth  and  bulging  eyes,  brought  Jinnie  forward 
a  few  steps. 

"He's  daid!  Yer  pa's  daid!"  shivered  Matty.  "And 
the  house  is  full  of  spirits.  They're  standin'  grinnin'  in 
the  corners.  I'm  goin'  hum  now,  little  missy.  I'm  goin* 
to  my  ole  man.  You'd  better  come  along  fer  to-night.'* 

Jinnie  heard  the  moaning  call  of  the  pine  trees  as  the 
winter's  voice  swept  through  them, — the  familiar  sound 


32  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

she  loved,  yet  at  which  she  trembled.  Confused  thoughts 
rolled  through  her  mind;  her  father's  fear  for  her;  his 
desire  that  she  should  seek  another  home.  She  could  not 
stay  in  Mottville  Corners;  she  could  not  go  with  Matty. 
No,  of  course  not!  Yet  her  throat  filled  with  longing 
sobs,  for  the  old  colored  woman  had  been  with  her  many 
years. 

By  this  time  Matty  had  tied  on  her  scarf,  opened  the 
door,  and  as  Virginia  saw  her  disappear,  she  sank  limply 
to  the  floor.  Milly  Ann  rubbed  her  yellow  back  against 
her  young  mistress's  dress.  Virginia  caught  her  in  her 
arms  and  drew  her  close. 

"Kitty,  kitty,"  she  sobbed,  "I've  got  to  go !  He  said 
I  could  take  you  and  your  babies,  and  I  will,  I  will!  I 
won't  leave  you  here  with  the  spirits." 

She  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet  and  went  to  the  cup- 
board, where  she  found  a  large  pail.  Into  this  she  folded 
a  roller  towel.  She  then  lifted  the  kittens  from  the  box 
behind  the  stove  and  placed  them  in  the  pail,  first  press- 
ing her  lips  lovingly  to  each  warm,  wriggley  little  body. 
Milly  Ann  cuddled  contentedly  with  her  offspring  as  the 
girl  covered  them  up. 

Jinnie  had  suddenly  grown  older,  for  a  responsibility 
rested  upon  her  which  no  one  else  could  assume. 

To  go  forth  into  the  blizzard  meant  she  must  wrap  up 
warmly.  This  she  did.  Then  she  wrapped  a  small  brown 
fiddle  in  her  jacket,  took  the  pail  and  went  to  the  door. 
There  she  stood,  considering  a  moment,  with  her  hand  on 
the  knob.  With  no  further  hesitancy  she  placed  the  kit- 
tens and  fiddle  gently  on  the  floor,  and  went  to  the  stairs. 
The  thought  of  the  spirits  made  her  shiver.  She  saw 
long  shadows  making  lines  here  and  there,  and  had  no 
doubt  but  that  these  were  the  ghosts  Matty  had  seen. 
She  closed  her  eyes  tightly  and  began  to  ascend  the  stairs, 


A  WHITE  PRESENCE  33 

feeling  her  way  along  the  wall.  At  the  top  she  opened 
reluctant  lids.  The  library  door  stood  ajar  as  Matty 
had  left  it,  and  the  room  appeared  quite  the  same  as  it 
had  a  few  moments  before,  save  for  the  long  figure  of  a 
man  lying  full  length  before  the  grate.  That  eternal 
period,  that  awful  stop  which  puts  a  check  on  human 
lives,  had  settled  once  and  for  all  the  earthly  concerns 
of  her  father.  The  space  between  her  and  the  body 
seemed  peopled  with  spectral  beings,  which  moved  to  and 
fro  in  the  dimly  lit  room.  Her  father  lay  on  his  back, 
the  flames  from  the  fire  making  weird  red  and  yellow  twist- 
ing streaks  on  his  white,  upturned  face. 

The  taut  muscles  grew  limp  in  the  girl's  body  as  she 
staggered  forward  and  stood  contemplating  the  wide- 
open,  staring  eyes.  Then  with  a  long  sigh  breathed  be- 
tween quivering  lips,  she  dropped  beside  the  lifeless  man. 
The  deadly  forces  eddying  around  her  were  not  of  her 
own  making.  With  the  going  of  this  person,  who  was 
her  father  by  nature,  everything  else  had  gone  too.  All 
her  life's  hopes  had  been  dissolved  in  the  crucible  of  death. 
She  lay,  with  her  hands  to  her  mouth,  pressing  back  the 
great  sobs  that  came  from  the  depths  of  her  heart.  She 
reached  out  and  tentatively  touched  her  father's  cheek ; 
without  fear  she  moved  his  head  a  little  to  what  she  hoped 
would  be  a  more  comfortable  position. 

"You  told  me  to  go,"  she  whispered  brokenly,  "and  I'm 
going  now.  You  never  liked  me  much,  but  I  guess  one  of 
my  kisses  won't  hurt  you." 

Saying  this,  Jinnie  pressed  her  lips  twice  to  those  of 
her  dead  father,  and  got  to  her  feet  quickly.  She  dared 
not  leave  the  lamp  burning,  so  within  a  short  distance  of 
the  table  she  drew  a  long  breath  and  blew  toward  the 
smoking  light.  The  flame  flared  thrice  like  a  torch,  then 
spat  out,  leaving  the  shivering  girl  to  feel  her  way  around 


34  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

the  room.  To  the  sensitive  young  soul  the  dark  was  almost 
maddening.  She  only  wanted  to  get  back  to  Milly  Ann, 
and  she  closed  the  door  with  no  thought  for  what  might 
become  of  the  man  inside.  He  was  dead!  A  greater 
danger  menaced  her.  He  had  warned  her  and  she  would 
heed.  As  she  stumbled  down  the  stairs,  her  memories  came 
too  swiftly  to  be  precise  and  in  order,  and  the  weird  moans 
of  the  night  wind  drifted  intermittently  through  the  wild 
maze  of  her  thoughts.  She  would  say  good-bye  to  Molly 
the  Merry,  for  Molly  was  the  only  person  in  all  the 
country  round  who  had  ever  spoken  a  kindly  word  to  her. 
Their  acquaintance  had  been  slight,  because  Molly  lived 
quite  a  distance  away  and  the  woman  had  never  been  to 
see  her,  but  then  of  course  no  one  in  the  neighborhood 
approved  of  the  house  of  Singleton. 

Later  by  five  minutes,  Virginia  left  the  dark  farmhouse, 
carrying  her  fiddle  and  the  pail  of  cats,  and  the  blizzard 
swallowed  her  up. 


CHAPTER    in 

JINNEE'S  FAREWELL  TO  MOLLY  THE  MERRY 

VIRGINIA  turned  into  the  Merriweather  gate,  went  up 
the  small  path  to  the  kitchen,  and  rapped  on  the  door. 
There  was  no  response,  so  she  turned  the  handle  and 
stepped  into  the  room.  It  was  warm  and  comfortable.  A 
teakettle,  singing  on  the  back  of  the  stove,  threw  out  little 
jets  of  steam.  Jinnie  placed  the  pail  on  the  floor  and 
seated  herself  in  a  low  chair  with  her  fiddle  on  her  lap. 
Molly  would  be  back  in  a  minute,  she  was  sure.  Just  as 
she  was  wondering  where  the  woman  could  be,  she  heard 
the  sound  of  voices  from  the  inner  room.  A  swift  sensa- 
tion of  coming  evil  swept  over  her,  and  without  taking 
thought  of  consequences,  she  slipped  under  the  kitchen 
table,  drawing  the  pail  after  her.  The  long  fringe  from 
the  red  cloth  hung  down  about  her  in  small,  even  tassels. 
The  dining  room  door  opened  and  she  tried  to  stifle  her 
swiftly  coming  breaths.  Virginia  could  see  a  pair  of  legs, 
man's  legs,  and  they  weren't  country  legs  either.  Fol- 
lowing them  were  the  light  frillings  of  a  woman's  skirts. 

"It's  warmer  here,"  said  Miss  Merriweather's  voice. 

Molly  and  the  man  took  chairs.  From  her  position  Vir- 
ginia could  not  see  his  face. 

"Your  father's  ill,"  he  said  in  a  voice  rich  and  deep. 

"Yes,"  replied  Molly.  "He's  been  near  death  for  a 
long  time.  We've  had  to  give  him  the  greatest  care. 
That's  why  I  haven't  told  him  anything." 

35 


36  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  man  bent  over  until  Jinnie  could  see  the  point  of 
his  chin. 

"I  see,"  said  he.  ...  "Well,  Molly,  are  you  glad  to 
have  me  back?" 

Molly's  face  came  plainly  within  Jinnie's  view.  At  his 
question  the  woman  went  paler.  Then  the  man  leaned 
over  and  tried  to  take  one  of  her  hands.  But  she  drew  it 
away  again  and  locked  her  fingers  together  in  her  lap. 

"Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  back  again?"  he  repeated. 

Molly's  startled  eyes  came  upward  to  his  face. 

"I  don't  know — I  can't  tell — I'm  so  surprised  and " 

"And  glad,"  laughed  the  stranger  in  a  deep,  mesmeric 
voice.  "Glad  to  have  your  husband  back  once  more,  eh?" 

Virginia's  start  was  followed  quickly  by  an  imploration 
from  Molly. 

"Hush,  hush,  please  don't  speak  of  it !" 

"I  certainly  shall  speak  of  it ;  I  certainly  shall.  I  came 
here  for  no  other  reason  than  that.  And  who  would  speak 
of  it  if  I  didn't?" 

Molly  shivered.  There  was  something  about  the  man's 
low,  modulated  tones  that  repelled  Virginia.  She  tried  in 
vain  to  see  his  face.  She  was  sure  that  nowhere  in  the 
hills  was  there  such  a  man. 

"You've  been  gone  so  long  I  thought  you'd  forgotten 
or — or  were  dead,"  breathed  Molly,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"Not  forgotten,  but  I  wasn't  able  to  get  back." 

"You  could  have  written  me." 

The  man  shrugged  himself  impatiently. 

"But  I  didn't.  Don't  rake  up  old  things ;  please  don't. 
Molly,  look  at  me." 

Molly  uncovered  a  pair  of  unwilling  eyes  and  centered 
them  upon  his  face. 

"What  makes  you  act  so?     Are  you  afraid?" 


JINNIE'S  FAREWELL  37 

"I  did  not  expect  you  back,  that's  all." 

"That's  not  it!  Tell  me  what's  on  your  mind.  .  .  . 
Tell  me." 

Molly's  white  lids  fell,  her  fingers  clenched  and  un- 
clenched. 

"I  didn't — I  couldn't  write,"  she  whispered,  "about  the 
baby." 

"Baby!"  The  word  burst  out  like  a  bomb.  The  man 
stood  up.  "Baby!"  he  repeated.  "You  mean  my — our 
baby?" 

Molly  swallowed  and  nodded. 

"A  little  boy,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  the  man. 

"Please,  please  don't  ask  me,  I  beg  of  you.  I  want  to 
forget " 

"But  you  can't  forget  you're  married,  that  you've  been 
the  mother  of  a  child  and — and — that  I'm  its  father." 

Molly's  tears  began  to  flow.  Virginia  had  never  seen 
a  woman  cry  before  in  all  her  young  life.  It  was  a  most 
distressing  sight.  Something  within  her  leaped  up  and 
thundered  at  her  brain.  It  ordered  her  to  venture  out 
and  aid  the  pretty  woman  if  she  could.  Jinnie  was  not 
an  eavesdropper!  She  did  not  wish  to  hear  any  more. 
But  fear  kept  her  crouched  in  her  awkward  position. 

"I  just  want  to  forget  if  I  can,"  Molly  sobbed.  "I 
idon't  know  where  the  baby  is.  That's  why  I  want  to 
forget.  I  can't  find  him." 

"Can't  find  him?  What  do  you  mean  by  'can't  find 
him'?" 

Molly  faced  about  squarely,  suddenly. 

"I've  asked  you  not  to  talk  about  it.  I've  been  ter- 
ribly unhappy  and  so  miserable.  .  .  .  It's  only  lately 
I've  begun  to  be  at  all  reconciled." 

"Nevertheless,  I  will  hear,"  snapped  the  man  angrily. 


38  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I  will  hear !     Begin  back  from  the  letter  you  wrote  me." 

"Asking  you  to  help  me?"  questioned  the  girl. 

"Yes,  asking  me  to  help  you,  if  you  want  to  be  blunt. 
Molly,  it  won't  make  you  any  happier  to  hatch  up  old 
scores.  I  tell  you  I've  come  to  make  amends — to  take 
you — if  you  will " 

"And  I  repeat,  I  can't  go  with  you!" 

"\\V11  leave  that  discussion  until  later.  Begin  back 
where  I  told  you  to." 

Molly's  face  was  very  white,  and  her  lids  drooped  wear- 
ily. Virginia  wanted  so  much  to  help  her!  She  made  a 
little  uneasy  movement  under  the  table,  but  Molly's  tragic 
voice  was  speaking  again. 

"My  father'd  kill  me  if  he  knew  about  it,  so  I  never  told 
him  or  any  one." 

"Including  me,"  cut  in  the  man  sarcastically. 

"You  didn't  care,"  said  Molly  with  asperity. 

"How  do  you  know  I  didn't  care?  Did  you  tell  me? 
Did  you?  Did  I  know?" 

Molly  shook  her  head. 

"Then  I  insist  upon  knowing  now,  this  moment !" 

"My  father  would  have  killed  me " 

"Well !"    His  voice  rushed  in  upon  her  hesitancy. 

"When  I  couldn't  stay  home  any  longer,  I  went  away 
to  visit  a  cousin  of  my  mother's.  At  least,  my  father 
thought  I'd  gone  there.  I  only  stayed  with  Bertha  a 
little  while  and  father  never  knew  the  truth  of  it." 

"And  then  after  that?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  my  baby.  I  was  afraid 
people'd  say  I  wasn't  married,  and  then  father " 

"Go  on  from  the  time  you  left  your  cousin's." 

Molly  thought  a  minute  and  proceeded. 

"I  looked  in  all  the  papers  to  find  some  one  who  wanted 
a  baby " 


JINNIE'S  FAREWELL  39 

"So  you  gave  him  away?  Well,  that's  easy  to  over- 
come. You  couldn't  give  my  baby  away,  you  know." 

"No,  no,  indeed!  I  didn't  give  him  away.  ...  I 
boarded  him  out  and  saved  money  to  pay  for  him.  I  even 
took  summer  boarders.  The  woman  who  had  him " 

Molly's  long  wait  prompted  the  man  once  more. 

"Well?"  he  said  again.     "The  woman  what?" 

"The  woman  began  to  love  the  baby  very  much,  and 
she  wasn't  very  poor,  and  didn't  need  the  money.  Lots 
of  times  I  went  with  it  to  her,  and  she  wouldn't  take  it." 

A  thought  connected  with  her  story  made  Molly  bury 
her  face  in  her  hands.  The  man  touched  her. 

"Go  on,"  he  said  slowly.     "Go  on.     And  then?" 

"Then  once  when  I  went  to  her  she  said  she  was  going 
to  take  the  baby  on  a  little  visit  to  some  relatives  and 
would  write  me  as  soon  as  she  got  back." 

"Yes,"  encouraged  the  low  voice. 

"She  never  wrote  or  came  back.  I  couldn't  find  where 
she'd  gone,  and  father  was  terribly  ill,  and  I've  hoped  and 
hoped " 

"How  long  since  you  last  saw  him?" 

Molly  considered  a  moment. 

"A  long  time,"  she  sighed. 

"How  many  years?" 

"One !" 

"Then  he  was  almost  seven  years  with  the  woman?" 

"Yes,"  breathed  Molly,  and  they  lapsed  into  silence. 

The  man  meditated  a  space  and  Jinnie  heard  a  low, 
nervous  cough  come  from  his  lips. 

"Molly,"  he  said  presently,  "I'm  going  to  have  a  lot 
of  money  soon.  It  won't  be  long,  and  then  we'll  find  him 
and  begin  life  all  over." 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to  find  him,"  moaned  Molly,  "but  I  couldn't 
begin  over  with  you.  It's  all  hateful  and  horrible  now." 


40  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Th'e  man  leaned  over  and  touched  her,  not  too  tenderly. 
When  Molly's  face  was  turned  to  him,  he  tilted  her  chin  up. 

"You  care  for  some  one  else?"  he  said  abruptly. 

The  droop  of  the  girl's  head  was  his  answer.  He  stood 
up  suddenly. 

"That's  it!     That's  it!     What's  his  name?" 

A  shake  of  her  head  was  all  the  answer  Molly  gave  him. 

"I  asked  you  his  name.     Get  up !     Stand  up !" 

As  if  to  force  her  to  do  his  will,  he  took  hold  of  her 
shoulders  sharply  and  drew  her  upward. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"It  doesn't  matter." 

"What's  his  name?" 

Virginia  did  not  catch  Molly's  whisper. 

A  disbelieving  grunt  fell  from  the  stranger's  lips. 

"I  remember  him  as  a  boy.  Weren't  they  one  summer 
at  the  Mottville  Hotel?  He's  years  younger  than  you." 

Molly  gathered  courage. 

"He  doesn't  know  how  old  I  am,"  she  responded,  "and 
his  mother  loves  me,  too.  They  were  with  me  three  sum- 
mers." Then,  remembering  the  man's  statement,  she 
added,  "Ages  don't  count  nowadays.  And  I  will  be  happy." 

"You'll  get  happiness  with  me,  not  with  him,"  said  an 
angry  voice.  "Has  he  ever  told  you  he  loved  you?" 

"No,  no,  indeed  not.  But  he  was  here  to-day!  His 
mother's  ill  and  wanted  me  to  come  as  her  companion,  but 
I  couldn't  leave  father  right  now." 

"Does  he  know  you  love  him  ?" 

An  emphatic  negative  ejaculation  from  Molly  brought 
a  sigh  of  relief  from  the  man. 

"Forget  him !"  said  lu-.  "Now  I'm  going.  I  shall  come 
back  to-night,  and  remember  this.  I'll  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  find  that  boy.  I've  always  longed  for  one, 
and  I'll  move  Heaven  and  earth  to  find  him." 


JINNIE'S  FAREWELL  41 

Virginia  saw  him  whirl  about,  open  the  door,  and  stride 
out. 

Molly  Merriweather  stood  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence, 
trembling. 

"I  didn't  dare  to  tell  him  the  baby  was  blind,"  she 
whispered,  too  low  for  Jinnie  to  hear. 

Then  she  slowly  glided  away,  leaving  the  girl  under 
the  table,  with  her  pail  full  of  cats,  and  the  fiddle.  Pres- 
ently Virginia  crawled  out  cautiously,  the  pail  on  her 
arm,  and  hugging  her  fiddle,  she  opened  the  door  swiftly, 
and  disappeared  down  the  road,  running  under  the  tall 
trees. 


CHAPTER    IV 

JINNIE     TRAVELS 

VIBGINIA  took  the  direction  leading  to  the  station. 
Many  a  time  she  had  watched  the  trains  rush  by  on  their 
way  to  New  York,  but  never  in  those  multitudinous  yes- 
terdays had  it  entered  her  mind  that  some  day  she  would 
go  over  that  same  way,  to  be  gone  possibly  forever.  The 
wind  was  blowing  at  such  a  terrific  rate  that  Jinnie  could 
scarcely  walk.  There  was  no  fear  in  her  heart,  only  deep 
solemnity  and  a  sense  of  awe  at  the  magnificence  of  a 
storm.  She  had  left  the  farmhouse  so  suddenly  that  the 
loneliness  of  parting  had  not  then  been  forced  upon  her  as 
it  was  now;  the  realization  was  settling  slowly  upon  the 
clouded  young  mind. 

She  was  a  mere  puppet  in  the  hands  of  an  inexorable 
fate,  which  had  shown  her  little  mercy  or  benevolence. 

Out  of  sight  of  the  Merriweather  homestead,  she  kept 
to  the  path  along  the  highway,  now  and  then  shifting  the 
pail  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  and  clasping  the  beloved 
fiddle  to  her  breast.  Once  she  looked  down  to  find  Milly 
Ann  peeping  above  the  rim  of  the  pail.  Jinnie  could  see 
the  glint  of  her  greenish  eyes.  She  stopped  and,  with  a 
tenderly  spoken  admonition,  covered  her  more  closely  with 
the  roller  towel.  When  the  lighted  station-house  glim- 
mered through  the  falling  snow,  Jinnie  sighed  with  relief. 

"I  couldn't  Jve  carried  you  and  the  fiddle  much  farther, 
Milly  Ann,"  she  murmured. 

42 


JINNIE  TRAVELS  43 

At  that  moment  a  tall  figure,  herculean  in  size,  loomed 
out  of  the  night  and  advanced  hastily.  The  man's  head 
was  bent  forward  against  the  storm.  Virginia  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  face  as  he  passed  in  the  streak  of  light 
thrown  out  from  the  station. 

He  sprang  to  the  platform  and  disappeared  in  the 
doorway.  Jinnie  saw  him  plainly  when  she,  too,  entered, 
and  her  eyes  followed  him  as  he  went  out. 

She  had  never  seen  him  before.  Like  the  man  in  the 
Merriweather  kitchen,  he  bore  the  stamp  of  the  city  upon 
him. 

Virginia  bought  her  ticket  as  her  father  had  directed, 
and  while  the  pail  was  still  on  the  floor,  she  bent  to  ex- 
amine Milly  Ann  and  the  kittens.  The  latter  were  asleep, 
but  the  mother-cat  lazily  opened  her  eyes  to  greet,  with 
a  purr,  the  soft  touch  of  Jinnie's  fingers.  The  girl  waited 
inside  the  room  until  the  shriek  of  the  engine's  whistle 
told  her  of  its  approach;  then,  with  the  fiddle  and  the 
pail,  she  walked  to  the  platform. 

The  long,  snakelike  train  was  edging  the  hill,  its  head- 
light bearing  down  the  track  in  one  straight,  glittering 
line. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Jinnie  felt  really  afraid. 
In  other  days,  with  beating  heart,  she  had  hugged  close 
to  the  roadside  as  the  monster  slipped  either  into  the 
station  and  stopped,  or  rushed  around  the  curve.  To- 
night she  was  going  aboard,  over  into  a  strange  land 
among  strange  people. 

She  tilted  the  pail  lovingly  and  hugged  a  little  more 
tightly  the  fiddle  in  her  arm.  Whatever  happened,  she 
had  Milly,  her  little  family,  and  the  comforting  music. 
Jinnie  could  never  be  quite  alone  with  these.  As  the 
train  slowed  up,  the  conductor  jumped  down. 

It  seemed  to  Virginia  like  a  dream  as  she  walked  toward 


44  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  car.  As  she  was  about  to  lift 
her  foot  to  climb  up,  she  heard  a  voice  say : 

"Let  me  help  you,  child.    Here,  I'll  take  the  pail." 

Virginia  looked  upward  into  the  face  of  a  man, — the 
same  face  she  had  seen  in  the  station  a  few  moments  be- 
fore,— an(J  around  the  handsome  mouth  was  a  smile  of 
reassuring  kindliness. 

She  surrendered  the  pail  with  a  burning  blush,  and  felt, 
with  a  strange  new  thrill,  a  firm  hand  upon  her  arm.  The 
next  thing  she  knew  she  was  in  a  seat,  with  the  pail  on  the 
floor  and  the  fiddle  lying  beside  her. 

She  gazed  around  wonderingly.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight  but  the  tall  man  who,  across  the  aisle,  was  arranging 
his  overcoat  on  the  back  of  the  seat.  Jinnie  looked  at 
him  with  interest — he  had  been  so  kind  to  her — and 
noted  his  thick,  blond  hair,  which  had  been  cropped  close 
to  a  massive  head.  She  admired  him,  too.  Suddenly  he 
looked  up,  and  the  girl  felt  a  clutch  at  her  heart.  Just 
why  that  happened  she  could  not  tell.  Again  came  the 
charming  smile,  the  parted  lips  showing  a  set  of  dazzling 
white  teeth. 

Jinnie  smiled  back,  responsively.     The  man  came  over. 

"May  I  sit  beside  you  ?"  he  asked. 

Jinnie  moved  the  fiddle  invitingly  and  huddled  herself 
into  the  corner.  When  the  man  started  to  move  the  pail, 
Jinnie  stayed  him. 

"Dh,  don't,  please,"  she  protested.  "It's  only  Milly 
and " 

"Milly  and  what?"  quizzically  came  the  question. 

"Her  kitties— see?" 

She  drew  aside  the  towel  and  exposed  the  sleeping  family. 

A  broad  smile  lit  up  the  man's  face. 

"Oh,  cats!     I  see!     Where're  you  taking  them ?"• 

"To  Bellaire." 


JINNIE  TRAVELS  45 

"Ah,  Bellaire;  that's  where  I'm  going.  We'll  have  a 
nice  ride  together,  almost  two  hours." 

"I'm  glad."    Jinnie  leaned  back,  sighing  contentedly. 

In  those  few  minutes  she  had  grown  to  have  great  faith 
in  this  stranger,  the  third  of  the  puzzling  trio  that  had 
come  into  her  life  that  night.  First  her  father,  then  the 
man  with  Molly  the  Merry,  and  now  this  brilliant  new 
friend,  who  quite  took  away  her  breath  as  she  peeped  up 
at  him.  His  smile  seemed  to  be  ever  ready.  It  warmed 
her  and  made  her  glow  with  friendliness.  She  liked,  too, 
the  deep  tones  in  his  voice  and  the  sight  of  his  strong 
hands  as  they  gestured  during  his  speeches. 

"Where  are  you  going  in  Bellaire  ?"  he  questioned. 

Virginia  cogitated  for  a  moment.  She  couldn't  tell  the 
story  her  father  had  told  her,  yet  she  must  answer  his 
kindly  question. 

At  length,  "The  cats  and  I  are  going  to  live  with  my 
uncle,"  said  she. 

"He  lives  in  Bellaire?" 

"Yes,  but  I've  never  seen  him.  I'll  find  him,  though, 
when  I  get  there." 

It  didn't  occur  to  the  man  to  ask  the  name  of  her  rela- 
tives, and  Jinnie  was  glad  he  did  not. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  see  you  some  time  in  the  city,"  he  re- 
sponded to  her  statement.  Jinnie  hoped  so;  oh,  how  she 
hoped  she  might  see  him  again ! 

"Mebbe,"  was  all  she  said. 

"You  see  I  live  there  with  my  mother,"  continued  the 
man.  "Our  home  is  called  Kinglaire.  My  name  is  King." 

Virginia  lifted  her  head  with  a  queer  little  start. 

"I've  read  about  your  people,"  she  said.  "I've  got  a 
book  in  our  garret  that  tells  all  about  Kings." 

"That's  very  nice,"  answered  Mr.  King.  "I  won't  have 
to  explain  anything  about  us,  then." 


46  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"No,  I  know,"  sai4  Jinnie  in  satisfaction. 

At  least  she  thought  she  knew.  Hadn't  she  read  over 
and  over,  when  seated  in  the  garret,  the  story  of  the  old 
and  new  kings,  how  they  sat  on  their  thrones,  and  ruled 
their  people  sometimes  with  a  rod  of  iron  ?  Jinnie  brought 
to  mind  some  of  the  vivid  pictures,  and  shyly  lifted  a  pair 
of  violet  eyes  to  scan  the  face  above  her.  Surely  this 
King  was  handsomer  than  any  in  the  book.  She  tried  to 
imagine  him  on  his  throne,  and  wondered  if  he  were  always 
smiling  as  now. 

"You're  quite  different  from  your  relations,"  she  ob- 
served presently. 

Theodore  King  laughed  aloud.  The  sound  startled  the 
girl  into  a  straighter  posture.  It  rang  out  so  merrily 
that  she  laughed  too  after  making  up  her  mind  that  he 
was  not  ridiculing  her. 

"Really  you  are!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  mean  it.  You 
know  the  picture  of  the  King  with  a  red  suit  on, — he 
doesn't  look  like  you.  His  nose  went  sort  of  down  over 
his  mouth — I  mean,  well,  yours  don't." 

She  stumbled  through  the  last  few  words,  intuitively 
realizing  that  she  had  been  too  personal. 

"You  like  to  read,  I  gather,"  stated  Mr.  King. 

"Yes,  but  I  like  to  fiddle  better,"  said  Jinnie. 

"Oh,  you  play,  do  you  ?" 

Jinnie's  eyes  fell  upon  the  instrument  standing  in  the 
corner  of  the  opposite  seat,  wrapped  in  an  old  jacket. 
She  nodded. 

"I  play  some.  I  love  my  fiddle  almost  as  much  as  I  do 
Milly  Ann  and  her  kitties." 

"Won't  you  play  for  me?"  asked  Mr.  King,  gravely 
putting  forth  his  hand. 

Jinnie  paused  a  moment.  Then  without  further  hesi- 
tancy she  took  up  the  violin  and  unfastened  it. 


JINNIE  TRAVELS  47 

"I'll  be  glad  to  fiddle  for  a  king,"  she  said  naively. 

She  did  not  speak  as  she  turned  and  twisted  the  small 
white  keys. 

Outside  the  storm  was  still  roaring  over  the  hills,  sweep- 
ing the  lake  into  monstrous  waves.  The  shriek  of  the 
wind  mingled  with  the  snap  of  the  taut  strings  under  the 
agile  fingers  of  the  hill  girl.  Then  Jinnie  began  to 
play.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  Theodore  King  seen  a 
picture  such  as  the  girl  before  him  made.  The  won- 
drous beauty  of  her,  the  marvelous  fingers  traveling 
over  the  strings,  together  with  the  moaning  of  the  night 
wind,  made  an  impression  upon  him  he  would  never  forget. 
Sometimes  as  her  fingers  sped  on,  her  eyes  were  penetrat- 
ing ;  sometimes  they  darkened  almost  to  melancholy.  When 
the  last  wailing  note  had  finally  died  away,  Jinnie  dropped 
the  instrument  to  her  side. 

"It's  lonely  on  nights  like  this  when  the  ghosts  howl 
about,"  she  observed.  "They  love  the  fiddle,  ghosts  do." 

Theodore  King  came  back  to  himself  at  the  girl's  words. 
He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Child,"  he  ejaculated,  "whoever  taught  you  to  play 
like  that?" 

"Why,  I  taught  myself,"  answered  Jinnie. 

"Please  play  again,"  entreated  Mr.  King,  and  once 
more  he  sat  enthralled  with  the  wonder  of  the  girl's  melo- 
dies. The  last  few  soulful  notes  Mr.  King  likened  to  a 
sudden  prayer,  sent  out  with  a  sobbing  breath. 

"It's  wonderful,"  he  murmured  slowly.  "What  is  the 
piece  you've  just  played?" 

"It  hasn't  any  name  yet,"  replied  the  girl.  "You  see 
I  only  know  pieces  that're  in  my  head." 

Then  all  the  misery  of  the  past  few  hours  swept  over 
her,  and  Jinnie  began  to  cry.  A  burden  of  doubt  had 
clouded  the  usually  clear  young  mind.  \Yhat  if  the  man 


48  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

to  whom  she  was  going  would  not  let  her  and  the  cats  live 
with  him?  He  might  turn  them  away. 

Mr.  King  spoke  softly  to  her. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  he.  "You  won't  be  lonely  when  you 
get  to  your  uncle's." 

But  she  met  his  smiling  glance  with  a  feeling  of  con- 
straint. He  did  not  know  the  cause  of  her  tears ;  she 
could  not  tell  him.  If  she  only  knew, — if  she  only  had 
one  little  inkling  of  the  reception  she  would  receive  at  the 
painter's  home.  However,  she  did  cheer  up  a  little  when 
Mr.  King,  in  evident  desire  to  be  of  some  service,  began 
to  tell  her  of  the  city  to  which  she  was  going. 

In  a  short  time  he  saw  the  dark  head  nodding,  and  he 
drew  Jinnie  down  against  his  arm,  whispering: 

"Sleep  a  while,  child ;  I'll  wake  you  up  at  Bellaire." 


CHAPTER    V 

LIKE    UNTO    UKE    ATTRACTED 

JINNIE  SINGLETON  watched  Theodore  King  leave  the 
train  at  the  little  private  station  situated  on  his  own 
estate.  As  she  drew  nearer  the  city  depot,  her  heart  beat 
with  uncertainty,  for  that  day  would  decide  her  fate,  her 
future ;  she  would  know  by  night  whether  or  not  she  pos- 
sessed a  friend  in  the  world. 

For  some  hours  she  sat  in  the  station  on  one  of  the  hard 
benches,  waiting  for  daylight,  at  which  time  she  and 
Milly  Ann  would  steal  forth  into  the  city  to  find  Lafe 
Grandoken,  her  mother's  friend. 

A  reluctant,  stormy  dawn  was  pushing  its  way  from 
the  horizon  as  she  picked  up  the  pail  and  fiddle  and  stepped 
out  into  the  falling  snow. 

Stopping  a  moment,  she  asked  the  station  master  about 
the  Grandokens,  but  as  he  had  only  that  week  arrived  in 
Bellaire,  he  politely,  with  admiration  in  his  eyes,  told  her 
he  could  not  give  her  any  information.  But  on  the  rail- 
road tracks  Virginia  saw  a  man  standing  with  his  hands 
thrust  deep  into  his  pockets. 

"What'd  you  want  of  Lafe  Grandoken?"  asked  the  fel- 
low in  reply  to  her  question. 

"I've  come  to  see  him,"  answered  Jinnie  evasively. 

"He's  a  cobbler  and  lives  down  with  the  shortwood 
gatherers  there  on  Paradise  Road.  Littlest  shack  of  the 
bunch !  He  ain't  far  from  my  folks.  My  name's  Maudlin 
Bates." 

49 


50  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

He  went  very  near  her. 

"Now  I've  told  you,  you  c'n  gimme  a  kiss,"  said  he. 

"I'll  give  you  a  bat,"  flung  back  Jinnie,  walking  away. 

Some  distance  off  she  stood  looking  down  the  tracks, 
her  blue  eyes  noting  the  row  of  huts  strung  along  the  road 
and  extending  toward  the  hills.  At  the  back  of  them  was 
a  marshland,  dense  with  trees  and  underbrush. 

"My  father  told  me  Mr.  Grandoken  was  a  painter  of 
houses  !"  Jinnie  ruminated :  "But  that  damn  duffer  back 
there  says  he's  changed  his  work  to  cobbling.  I'll  go  and 
see!  I  hope  it  won't  be  long  before  I'm  as  warm  as  can 
be.  Wonder  if  he'll  be  glad  to  see  me !" 

"It's  the  smallest  house  among  'em,"  she  cogitated  fur- 
ther, walking  very  fast.  "Well !  There  ain't  any  of  'em 
very  big." 

She  traveled  on  through  heavy  snow,  glancing  at  every 
hut  until,  coming  to  a  standstill,  she  read  aloud : 

"Lafe  Grandokcn,  Cobbler  of  Folks'  and  Children's 
Shoes  and  Boots." 

Jinnie  turned  and,  going  down  a  short  flight  of  steps, 
hesitated  a  moment  before  she  knocked  timidly  on  the  front 
door.  During  the  moment  of  waiting  she  glanced  over 
what  she  hoped  was  to  be  her  future  home.  It  was  so 
small  in  comparison  with  the  huge,  lonely  farmhouse  she 
had  left  the  night  before  that  her  heart  grew  warm  in 
anticipation.  Then  in  answer  to  a  man's  voice,  calling 
"Come  in !"  she  lifted  the  latch  and  opened  the  door. 

The  room  was  small  and  cheerless,  although  a  fire  was 
struggling  for  life  in  a  miniature  stove.  In  one  corner 
was  a  table  strewn  with  papers.  Back  from  the  window 
which  faced  the  tracks  was  a  man,  a  kit  of  cobbler's  tools, 
in  the  disarray  of  daily  use,  on  the  bench  beside  him.  He 
halt*  (I,  with  his  hammer  in  the  air,  at  the  sight  of  the 
newcon 


LIKE  UNTO  LIKE  ATTRACTED      51 

"Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  said  he,  and  the  girl 
did  as  she  was  bidden.  "Cold,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jinnie,  placing  the  pail  and  fiddle  on 
the  floor. 

The  girl  looked  the  man  over  with  her  steady  blue  eyes. 
Then  her  heart  gave  one  great  bound.  The  grey  face 
had  lighted  with  a  sweet,  sad  smile ;  the  faded  eyes,  under 
the  bushy  brows,  twinkled  welcome.  A  sense  of  wonderful 
security  and  friendship  rushed  over  her. 

"Well,  what's  your  business  ?  Got  some  shoes  to  mend?" 
asked  the  man.  "Better  sit  down." 

Jinnie  took  a  chair  in  silence,  a  passionate  wish  suffus- 
ing her  being  that  this  small  home  might  be  hers.  She 
was  so  lonely,  so  homesick.  The  little  room  seemed  ra- 
diant with  the  smile  of  the  cobbler.  She  only  felt  the 
wonderful  content  that  flowed  from  the  man  on  the  bench 
to  herself ;  she  wanted  to  stay  with  him ;  never  before  had 
she  been  face  to  face  with  a  desire  so  great. 

"I've  come  to  live  with  you,"  she  gulped,  at  length. 

The  cobbler  gave  a  quick  whack  at  the  little  shoe  he 
held  in  the  vise. 

"I'm  Jinnie  Singleton,  kid  of  Thomas  Singleton,  the 
second,"  the  girl  explained,  almost  mechanically,  "and  I 
haven't  any  home,  so  I've  come  to  you." 

During  this  statement  the  cobbler's  hammer  rattled  to 
the  floor,  and  he  sat  eyeing  the  speaker  speechlessly. 
Then  he  slowly  lifted  his  arms  and  held  them  forth. 

"Come  here !  Lass,  come  here !"  he  said  huskily.  "I'd 
come  to  you,  but  I  can't." 

In  her  mental  state  it  took  Jinnie  a  few  seconds  to 
gather  the  import  of  the  cobbler's  words.  Then  she 
sprang  up  and  went  forward  with  parted,  smiling  lips, 
tears  trembling  thick  on  her  dark  lashes.  When  Jinnie 
felt  a  pair  of  warm,  welcoming  arms  about  her  strong 


M  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

young  shoulders,  she  shivered  in  sudden  joy.  The  sensa- 
tion was  delightful,  and  while  a  thin  hand  patted  her  back, 
she  choked  down  a  hard  sob.  However,  she  pressed  back- 
ward and  looked  down  into  Lafe  Grandoken's  eyes. 

"I  thought  I'd  never  cry  again  as  long  as  I  lived,"  she 
whispered,  ''but — but  I  guess  it's  your  loving  me  that's 
done-  it." 

It  came  like  a  small  confession — as  a  relief  to  the  over- 
burdened little  soul. 

"I  guess  I've  rode  a  hundred  miles  to  get  here,"  she 
went  on,  half  sobbing,  "and  you're  awful  glad  to  see  me, 
ain't  you?" 

It  didn't  need  Lafe's,  "You  bet  your  boots,"  to  satisfy 
Jinnie.  The  warmth  of  his  arms,  the  shining,  misty  eyes, 
set  her  to  shivering  convulsively  and  shaking  with  hap- 
piness. 

"Set  here  on  the  bench,"  invited  the  cobbler,  softly,  "an' 
tell  me  about  your  pa  an'  ma." 

"They're  both  dead,"  said  Jinnie,  sitting  down,  but  she 
still  kept  her  hand  on  the  cobbler's  arm  as  if  she  were 
afraid  he  would  vanish  from  her  sight. 

The  man  made  a  dash  at  his  eyes  with  his  free  hand. 

"Both  dead !"  he  repeated  with  effort,  "an*  you're  their 
girl!" 

"Yes,  and  I've  come  to  live  with  you,  if  you'll  let  me." 

She  drew  forth  the  letters  written  the  night  before. 

"Here's  two  letters,"  she  ended,  handing  them  over,  and 
sinking  down  again  into  the  chair. 

She  sat  very  quietly  as  the  cobbler  stumbled  through 
the  finely  written  sheets. 

"Mottville  Corners,  N.  Y. 
"Dear  Mr.  Grandoken,"  whispered  Lafe. 

"My  girl  will  bring  you  this,  and,  in  excuse  for  sending 


LIKE  UNTO  LIKE  ATTRACTED      53 

her,  I  will  briefly  state:  I'm  very  near  the  grave,  and 
she's  in  great  danger.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  her  Uncle 
Jordan  Morse  has  conquered  me  and  will  her,  if  she's  not 
looked  after.  For  her  mother's  sake,  I  ask  you  to  take 
her  if  you  can.  She  will  repay  you  when  she's  of  age,  but 
until  then,  after  I'm  gone,  she  can't  get  any  money  unless 
through  her  uncle,  and  that  would  be  too  dangerous. 
When  I  say  that  my  child's  life  isn't  worth  this  paper  if 
she  is  given  over  to  Morse,  you'll  see  the  necessity  of  help- 
ing her.  I  don't  know  another  soul  I  could  trust  as  I  am 
trusting  you.  The  other  letter  Virginia  will  explain. 
Keep  it  to  use  against  Morse  if  you  need  to. 

"I  can't  tell  you  whether  my  girl  is  good  or  not,  but  I 
hope  so.  I've  woefully  neglected  her,  but  now  I  wish  I 
had  a  chance  to  live  the  past  few  years  over.  She'll  tell 
you  all  she  knows,  which  isn't  much.  What  you  do  for 
her  will  be  greatly  appreciated  by  me,  and  would  be  by 
her  mother,  too,  if  she  could  understand  her  daughter's 
danger.  "Gratefully  yours, 

"THOMAS  G.  SIXGLETON." 

The  cobbler  put  down  the  paper,  and  the  rattling  of  it 
made  Jinnie  raise  her  head. 

"Come  over  here  again,"  said  the  "rhoemaker,  kindly. 
"Now  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Didn't  the  letter  tell  you?" 

"Some  of  it,  yes.    But  tell  me  about  yourself." 

Lafe  Grandoken  listened  as  the  girl  recounted  her  past 
life  with  Matty,  and  when  at  the  finish  she  remarked, 

"I  had  to  bring  Milly  Ann " 

Grandoken  by  a  look  interrupted  her  explanation. 

"Milly  Ann?"  he  repeated. 

Then  came  the  story  of  the  mother-cat  and  her  babies. 
Jinnie  lifted  the  towel,  and  the  almost  smothered  kittens 


54  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

scrambled  over  the  top  of  the  pail.  Milly  Ann  stretched 
her  cramped  legs,  then  proceeded  vigorously  to  wash  the 
faces  of  her  numerous  children. 

"She  wouldn't've  had  a  place  to  live  if  I  hadn't  brought 
her,"  explained  Jinnie,  looking  at  the  kittens.  "I  guess 
they  won't  eat  much,  because  Milly  Ann  catches  all  kinds 
of  live  things.  I  don't  like  'er  to  do  that,  but  I  heard 
she  was  born  that  way  and  can't  help  it." 

"I  guess  she'll  find  enough  to  eat  around  here,"  he  said 
softly. 

"I  brought  my  fiddle,  too,"  Jinnie  went  on  lovingly.  "I 
couldn't  live  without  it  any  more'n  I  could  without  Milly 
Ann." 

The  cobbler  nodded. 

"You  play?"  he  questioned. 

"A  little,"  replied  the  girl. 

Mr.  Grandoken  eyed  the  instrument  on  the  floor  beside 
the  pail. 

"You  oughter  have  a  box  to  put  it  in,"  he  suggested. 
"It  might  get  wet." 

Virginia  acquiesced  by  bowing  her  head. 

"I  know  it,"  she  assented,  "but  I  carried  it  in  that  old 
wrap  .  .  .  Did  Father  tell  you  about  my  uncle?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  cobbler. 

"And  that  he  was  made  to  die  for  something  my  uncle 
did?" 

"Yes,  an*  that  he  might  harm  you.  ...  I  knew  your 
mother  well,  lass,  when  she  was  young  like  you." 

An  expression  of  sadness  pursed  Jinnie's  pretty  mouth. 

"I 'don't  remember  her,  you  see,"  she  murmured  sadly. 
"I  wish  I  had  her  now." 

And  she  heard  the  cobbler  murmur,  "What  must  your 
uncle  be  to  want  to  hurt  a  little,  sweet  girl  like  you?" 

They  did  not  speak  again  for  a  few  moments. 


LIKE  UNTO  LIKE  ATTRACTED      55 

"Go  call  Peg,"  the  cobbler  then  said. 

At  a  loss,  Virginia  glanced  about. 

"Peg's  my  woman — my  wife,"  explained  Lafe.  "Go 
through  that  door  there.  Just  call  Peg  an'  she'll  come." 

In  answer  to  the  summons  a  woman  appeared,  with 
hands  on  hips  and  arms  akimbo.  Her  almost  colorless 
hair,  streaked  a  little  with  grey,  was  drawn  back  from  a 
sallow,  thin  face  out  of  which  gleamed  a  pair  of  light 
blue  eyes.  Jinnie  in  one  quick  glance  noted  how  tall  and 
angular  she  was.  The  cobbler  looked  from  his  wife  to 
her. 

"You've  heard  me  speak  about  Singleton,  who  married 
Miss  Virginia  Burton  in  Mottville,  Peggy,  ain't  you?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  woman. 

"His  kid's  come  to  live  with  us.  She  calls  herself  Jin- 
nie." He  threw  his  eyes  with  a  kindly  smile  to  the  girl, 
standing  hesitant,  longing  for  recognition  from  the  tall, 
gaunt  woman.  "I  guess  she'd  better  go  to  the  other  room 
and  warm  her  hands,  eh?" 

Mrs.  Grandoken,  dark-faced,  with  drooping  lips,  or- 
dered the  girl  into  the  kitchen. 

Alone  with  his  wife,  Lafe  read  Singleton's  letter  aloud. 

"I've  heard  as  much  of  her  yarn  as  I  can  get,"  he  said, 
glancing  up.  "I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  she  was  here." 

"We  ain't  got  a  cent  to  bless  ourselves  with,"  grumbled 
Mrs.  Grandoken,  "an'  times  is  so  hard  I  can't  get  more 
work  than  what  I'm  doin'." 

A  patient,  resigned  look  crossed  the  cobbler's  pain-worn 
face. 

"That's  so,  Peg,  that's  so,"  he  agreed  heartily.  "But 
there's  always  to-morrow,  an'  after  that  another  to-mor- 
row. With  every  new  day  there's  always  a  chance.  We've 
got  a  chance,  an'  so's  the  girl." 


56  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  woman  dropped  into  a  chair,  noticing  the  cobbler's 
smile,  which  was  born  to  give  her  hope. 

"There  ain't  much  chance  for  a  bit  of  a  brat  like  her," 
she  snarled  crossly,  and  the  man  answered  this  statement 
with  eagerness,  because  the  rising  inflection  in  his  wife's 
voice  made  it  a  question. 

"Yes,  there  is,  Peg,"  he  insisted ;  "yes,  there  is !  Didn't 
you  say  there  was  hope  for  me  when  my  legs  went  bad — 
that  I  had  a  chance  for  a  livin'  ?  Now  didn't  you,  Peggy  ? 
An'  ain't  I  got  the  nattiest  little  shop  this  side  of  way  up 
town?" 

Peg  paused  a  moment.  Then,  "That  you  have,  Lafe ; 
you  sure  have,"  came  slowly. 

"An'  didn't  I  make  full  sixty  cents  yesterday?" 

"You  did,  Lafe ;  you  sure  did." 

"An*  sixty  cents  is  better 'n  nothin',  ain't  it,  Peg?" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  arose  hastily. 

"Course  'tis,  Lafe!  But  don't  brag  'cause  you  made 
sixty  cents.  You  might  a  lost  your  hands  same's  your 
feet.  'Tain't  no  credit  to  you  you  didn't.  Here,  let  me 
wrap  you  up  better!  You'll  freeze  all  that's  left  of  your 
legs,  if  you  don't." 

"Them  legs  ain't  much  good,"  sighed  the  cobbler.  "They 
might  as  well  be  off;  mightn't  they,  Peg?" 

Peggy  wrapped  a  worn  blanket  tightly  about  her  hus- 
band. 

"You  oughter  be  ashamed,"  she  growled  darkly.  "Ain't 
you  every  day  say  in'  there's  always  to-morrow?" 

This  time  her  voice  was  toned  with  finality,  and  she 
turned  and  went  out. 


I   GUES8  THEY   WON  T  EAT  MUCH,  BECAUSE  MILLIE  ANN  CATCHES  ALL  KIND  OF  LIVE  THINGS. 
LIKE  HER  TO  DO  THAT,  BUT  I  BEABD  SHE  WAS  BOB*  THAT  WAT  AND  CAN*!  HELP  IT." 


CHAPTER    VI 

PEG'S  BARK 

VIRGINIA  and  Lafe  Grandoken  sat  for  some  time  with 
nothing  but  the  tick-tack  of  the  hammer  to  break  the 
silence. 

"It  bein'  the  first  time  you've  visited  us,  kid,"  broke 
in  the  man,  pausing,  "you  can't  be  knowin'  just  what's 
made  us  live  this  way." 

Virginia  made  a  negative  gesture  and  smiled,  settling 
herself  hopefully  for  a  story,  but  Lafe  brought  a  fright- 
ened expression  quickly  to  her  face  by  his  low,  even  voice, 
and  the  ominous  meaning  of  his  words. 

"Me  an'  Peg's  awful  poor,"  said  he. 

"Then  mebbe  I'd  better  not  stay,  Mr.  Lafe,"  faltered 
Jinnie. 

The  cobbler  threaded  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 

"The  shanty's  awful  small,"  he  interjected,  thought- 
fully. 

"I  think  it's  awful  nice,  though,"  offered  the  girl.  Some 
thought  closed  her  blue  eyes,  but  they  flashed  open  in- 
stantly. 

"Cobbler,"  she  faltered,  "is  Mrs.  Peggy  mad  when  she 
grits  her  teeth  and  wags  her  head?" 

As  if  by  its  own  volition  the  cobbler's  hammer  stayed 
itself  in  the  air. 

"No,"  he  smiled,  "just  when  she  acts  the  worst  is  when 
she's  likely  to  do  her  best  .  .  .  I've  knowed  Peggy  this 
many  a  year." 

57 


58  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"She  was  a  wee  little  bit  cross  to  me,"  commented  the 

girl. 

"Was  she?    I  didn't  hear  anything  she  said." 

'Til  tell  you,  then,  Mr.  Lafe,"  said  Virginia.  "When 
I  was  standing  by  the  fire  warming  my  hands,  she  come 
bustling  out  and  looked  awful  mad.  She  said  something 
about  folks  keeping  their  girls  to  home." 

"Well,  what  after  that?"  asked  the  cobbler,  as  Jinnie 
hesitated. 

"She  said  she  could  see  me  eating  my  head  off,  and  as 
long  as  I  had  to  hide  from  my  uncle,  I  wouldn't  be  able 
to  earn  my  salt." 

"Well,  that's  right,"  affirmed  the  cobbler,  wagging  his 
head.  "You  got  to  keep  low  for  a  while.  Your  Uncle 
Morse  knows  a  lot  of  folks  in  this  town." 

"But  they  don't  know  me,"  said  Virginia. 

"That's  good,"  remarked  Lafe. 

As  he  said  this,  Peg  opened  the  door  roughly  and  or- 
dered them  in  to  breakfast. 

Virginia  sat  beside  the  cobbler  at  the  meager  meal.  On 
the  table  were  three  bowls  of  hot  mush.  As  the  fragrant 
odor  rose  to  her  nostrils,  waves  of  joy  crept  slowly 
through  the  young  body. 

"Peggy  'lowed  you'd  be  hungry,  kid,"  said  the  cobbler, 
pushing  a  bowl  in  front  of  her. 

Mrs.  Grandoken  interrupted  her  husband  with  a  growl. 

"If  I've  any  mem'ry,  you  'lowed  it  yourself,  Lafe  Gran- 
doken," she  muttered. 

A  smile  deepened  on  the  cobbler's  face  and  a  slight 
flush  rose  to  his  forehead. 

"I  'lowed  it,  too,  Peggy  dear,"  he  said. 

"Eat  your  mush,"  snapped  the  woman,  "an',  Lafe,  don't 
'Peggy  dear'  me.  I  hate  it ;  see  ?" 

Virginia  refused  to  believe  the  startling  words.     She 


PEG'S  BARK  59 

would  have  adored  being  called  "dear."  In  Lafe's  voice, 
great  love  rang  out ;  in  the  woman's,  she  scarcely  knew 
what.  She  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  as  the  cobbler 
lifted  his  head.  He  was  always  thanking  some  one  in 
some  unknown  place  for  the  priceless  gift  of  his  woman. 

"I'll  'Peggy  dear'  you  whenever  I  feel  like  it,  wife,"  he 
said  gravely,  "for  God  knows  you're  awful  dear  to  me, 
Peg." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  ignored  his  speech,  but  when  she  re- 
turned from  the  stove,  her  voice  was  a  little  more  gentle. 

"You  can  both  stuff  your  innards  with  hot  mush.  You 
can't  starve  on  that.  .  .  .  Here,  kid,  sit  a  little  nearer !" 

So  Virginia  Singleton,  the  lame  cobbler,  and  Peggy  be- 
gan their  first  meal,  facing  a  new  day,  which  to  Lafe  was 
yesterday's  to-morrow. 

A  little  later  Virginia  followed  the  wheel  chair  into  the 
cobbler's  shop.  Peggy  grumblingly  left  them  to  return 
to  her  duties  in  the  kitchen. 

"Terrible  cold  day  this,"  Lafe  observed,  picking  up  a 
shoe.  "The  wind's  blowin'  forty  miles  the  hour." 

Virginia's  next  remark  was  quite  irrelevant  to  the  wind. 

"I'm  hoping  Mrs.  Peggy'll  get  the  money  she  was  talk- 
ing about." 

"Did  she  tell  you  she  needed  some  ?" 

Virginia  nodded,  and  when  she  spoke  again,  her  tongue 
was  parched  and  dry. 

"She  said  she  had  to  have  money  to-night.  I  hope  she 
gets  it ;  if  she  doesn't  I  can't  stay  and  live  with  you." 

"I  hope  she  gets  it,  too,"  sighed  the  cobbler. 

Of  a  sudden  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  The  girl 
noticed  it  and  looked  a  question. 

"Peggy's  bark's  worser'n  her  bite,"  Lafe  explained  in 
answer.  "She's  like  a  lot  of  them  little  pups  that  do  a 
lot  of  barkin'  but  wouldn't  set  their  teeth  in  a  biscuit." 


60  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Does  that  mean,"  Jinnie  asked  eagerly,  "if  she  don't 
get  the  two  dollars  to-night,  Mrs.  Peggy  might  let  me 
stay?" 

"That's  just  what  it  means,"  replied  Lafe,  making  loud 
whacks  on  the  sole  of  a  shoe.  "You'll  stay,  all  right." 

The  depth  of  Virginia's  gratitude  just  then  could  only 
be  estimated  by  one  who  had  passed  through  the  same 
fires  of  deep  uncertainty,  and  in  the  ardor  of  it  she  flung 
her  arms  around  the  cobbler's  neck  and  kissed  him. 


When  Lafe,  with  useless  legs,  had  been  brought  home  to 
his  wife,  she  had  stoically  taken  up  the  burden  that  had 
been  his.  At  her  husband's  suggestion  that  he  should 
cobble,  Mrs.  Grandoken  had  fitted  up  the  little  shop,  tell- 
ing him  grimly  that  every  hand  in  the  world  should  do  its 
share.  And  that  was  how  Lafe  Grandoken,  laborer  and 
optimist,  began  his  life's  great  work — of  cobbling  a  ray 
of  comfort  to  every  soul  entering  the  shack.  Sometimes 
he  would  insist  that  the  sun  shone  brighter  than  the  day 
before;  then  again  that  the  clouds  had  a  cooling  effect. 
But  if  in  the  world  outside  Lafe  found  no  comfort,  he  al- 
ways spoke  of  to-morrow  with  a  ring  of  hope  in  his  voice. 

Hope  for  another  day  was  all  Lafe  had  save  Peggy,  and 
to  him  these  two — hope  and  the  woman — were  Heaven's 
choicest  gifts.  Now  Peggy  didn't  realize  all  these  things, 
because  the  world,  with  its  trials  and  vicissitudes,  gave  her 
a  different  aspect  of  life,  and  she  was  not  in  even  her  or- 
dinary good  humor  this  day  as  she  prepared  the  midday 
meal.  Her  mind  was  busy  with  thoughts  of  the  new  bur- 
den which  the  morning  had  brought. 

Generally  Lafe  consulted  her  about  any  problem  that 
presented  itself  before  him,  but,  that  day,  he  had  taken  a 


PEG'S  BARK  61 

young  stranger  into  their  home,  and  Mrs.  Grandoken  had 
used  all  kinds  of  arguments  to  persuade  him  to  send  the 
girl  away.  Peggy  didn't  want  another  mouth  to  feed. 
She  didn't  care  for  any  one  in  the  world  but  Lafe  anyway. 

When  the  dinner  was  on  the  table,  she  grimly  brought 
her  husband's  wheel  chair  to  the  kitchen.  Virginia,  by  the 
cobbler's  invitation,  followed. 

"Any  money  paid  in  to-day?"  asked  Peggy  gruffly, 
drawing  the  cobbler  to  his  place  at  the  table. 

"No,"  he  said,  smiling  up  at  her,  "but  there'll  be  a  lot 

to-morrow.  ...  Is  there  some  bread  for for  Jinnie, 

too?" 

Peggy  replied  by  sticking  her  fork  into  a  biscuit  and 
pushing  it  off  on  Virginia's  plate  with  her  finger. 

Virginia  acknowledged  it  with  a  shy  upward  glance. 
Peg's  stolid  face  and  quick,  insistent  movements  filled  her 
with  vague  discomfort.  If  the  woman  had  tempered  her 
harsh,  "Take  it,  kid,"  with  a  smile,  the  little  girl's  heart 
might  have  ached  less. 

Lafe  nodded  to  her  when  his  wife  left  the  room  for  a 
moment. 

"That  biscuit's  Peg's  bite,"  said  he,  "so  she'll  bark  a 
lot  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  don't  you  mind." 


CHAPTER  VII 

JUST  A  JEW 

WHEN  the  cobbler  was  at  work  again,  Virginia,  after 
picking  up  a  few  nails  and  tacks  scattered  on  the  floor, 
sat  down. 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  something  about  me  and  Peggy, 
lassie?"  he  inquired,  "an'  will  you  take  my  word  for 
things?" 

Jinnie  nodded  trustfully.  She  had  already  grown  to 
love  the  cobbler,  and  her  affection  grew  stronger  as  she 
stated : 

"There  isn't  anything  you'd  tell  me,  cobbler,  I  wouldn't 
believe !" 

With  slow  importance  Lafe  put  down  his  hammer. 

"I'm  a  Israelite,"  he  announced. 

"What's  that?"  asked  the  girl,  immediately  interested. 

The  cobbler  looked  over  his  spectacles  and  smiled. 

"A  Jew,  just  a  plain  Jew." 

"I  don't  know  what  a  Jew  is  either,"  confessed  Jinnie. 

Lafe  groped  for  words  to  explain  his  meaning. 

"A  Jew,"  he  ventured  presently,  "is  one  of  God's 

chosen folks.  .1  mean  one  of  them  chose  by  Him  to 

believe." 

"Believe  what?" 

"All  that  God  said  would  be,"  explained  Lafe,  rever- 
ently. 

"And  you  believe  it,  cobbler?" 

62 


JUST  A  JEW  63 

"Sure,  kid ;  sure." 

The  shoemaker  saw  a  question  mirrored  in  the  depths 
of  the  violet  eyes. 

"And  thinking  that  way  makes  you  happy,  eh,  Mr. 
Lafe?  Does  it  make  you  smile  the  way  you  do  at  girls 
without  homes?" 

As  she  put  this  question  sincerely  to  him,  Jinnie  re- 
minded the  cobbler  of  a  beautiful  flower  lifting  its  proud 
head  to  the  sun.  In  his  experience  with  young  people,  he 
had  never  seen  a  girl  like  this  one. 

"It  makes  me  happier'n  anything!"  he  replied,  cheer- 
fully. "The  wonderful  part  is  I  wouldn't  know  about  it 
if  I  hadn't  lost  my  legs.  I'll  tell  you  about  it,  lass." 

Jinnie  settled  back  contentedly. 

"A  long  time  ago,"  began  Mr.  Grandoken,  "God  led 
a  bunch  of  Jews  out  of  a  town  where  a  king  was  torturin' 
'em " 

The  listener's  eyes  darkened  in  sympathy. 

"They  was  made  to  do  a  lot  of  things  that  hurt  'em; 
their  babies  and  women,  too." 

Jinnie  leaned  forward  and  covered  the  horny  hand  with 
her  slender  fingers. 

"Have  you  ever  had  any  babies,  Lafe?"  she  ventured. 

A  perceptible  shadow  crossed  the  man's  face. 

"Yes,"  said  he  hesitatingly.  "Me  and  Peggy  had  a  boy 
— a  little  fellow  with  curly  hair — a  Jew  baby.  Peggy 
always  let  me  call  him  a  Jew  baby,  though  he  was  part 
Irish." 

"Oh !"  gasped  Jinnie,  radiantly. 

"I  was  a  big  fellow  then,  kid,  with  fine,  strong  legs, 
an'  nights,  when  I'd  come  home,  I'd  carry  the  little  chap 
about." 

The  cobbler's  eyes  glistened  with  the  memory,  but  shad- 
owed almost  instantly. 


64  ROSE    O*   PARADISE 

"But  one  day  -  "  he  hesitated. 

The  pause  brought  an  exclamation  from  the  girl. 

"And  one  day  —  what?"  she  demanded. 

"He  died  ;  that's  all,"  and  Lafe  gazed  unseeingly  at  the 
snow-covered  tracks. 

"And  you  buried  him?"  asked  Virginia,  softly. 

"Yes,  an'  the  fault  was  mostly  mine,  Jinnie.  I  ain't 
had  no  way  to  make  it  up  to  Peggy,  but  there's  lots  of 
to-morrows." 

"You'll  make  her  happy  then?"  ejaculated  the  girl. 

"Yes,"  said  Lafe,  "an*  I  might  a  done  it  then,  but  I 
wouldn't  listen  to  the  voices." 

A  look  of  bewildered  surprise  crossed  the  girl's  face. 
Were  they  spirit  voices,  the  voices  in  the  pines,  of  which 
Lafe  was  speaking?  She'd  ask  him. 

"God's  voices  out  of  Heaven,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  her 
query.  "They  come  every  night,  but  I  wouldn't  listen,  till 
one  day  my  boy  was  took.  Then  I  heard  another  voice, 
demandin'  me  to  tell  folks  what  was  what  about  God.  But 
I  was  afraid  an'  a  —  coward." 

The  cobbler  lapsed  into  serious  thought,  while  Virginia 
moved  a  small  nail  back  and  forth  on  the  floor  with  the 
toe  of  her  shoe.  She  wouldn't  cry  again,  but  something 
in  the  low,  sad  voice  made  her  throat  ache.  After  the 
man  had  been  quiet  for  a  long  time,  she  pressed  liim  with  : 

"After  that,  Lafe,  what  then?" 

"After  that,"  repeated  the  cobbler,  straightening  his 
shoulders,  "after,  that  my  legs  went  bad  an'  then  —  an' 


Virginia,  very  pale,  went  to  the  cobbler,  and  laid  her 
head  against  his  shoulder. 

"An'  then,  child,"  he  breathed  huskily,  "I  believed,  an' 
I  know,  as  well  as  I'm  livin',  God  sent  his  Christ  for  every- 
body ;  that  in  the  lovin'  father"  —  Lafe  raised  his  eyes  — 


JUST  'A  JEW  65 

"there's  no  line  drawed  'tween  Jews  an'  Gentiles.  They're 
all  alike  to  Him.  Only  some're  goin'  one  road  an'  some 
another  to  get  to  Him,  that's  all." 

These  were  quite  new  ideas  to  Virginia.  In  all  her 
young  life  no  one  had  ever  conversed  with  her  of  such 
things.  True,  from  her  hill  home  on  clear  Sunday  morn- 
ings she  could  hear  the  church  bells  ding-dong  their  hoarse 
welcome  to  the  farmers,  but  she  had  never  been  inside  the 
church  doors.  Now  she  regretted  the  lost  opportunity. 
She  wished  to  grasp  the  cobbler's  meaning.  Noting  her 
tense  expression,  Grandoken  continued: 

"It  was  only  a  misunderstandin'  'tween  a  few  Jews 
when  they  nailed  the  Christ  to  the  cross.  Why,  a  lot  of 
Israelites  back  there  believed  in  'im.  I'm  one  of  them 
believin'  Jews,  Jinnie." 

"I  wish  I  was  a  Jew,  cobbler,"  sighed  Jinnie.  "I'd 
think  the  same  as  you  then,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  have  to  be  a  Jew  to  believe,"  returned 
Lafe.  "It's  as  easy  to  do  as  'tis  to  roll  off'n  a  log." 

This  lame  man  filled  her  young  heart  with  a  deep  long- 
ing to  help  him  and  to  have  him  help  her. 

"You're  going  to  teach  me  all  about  it,  ain't  you, 
Lafe?"  she  entreated  presently. 

"Sure!  Sure!  You  see,  it's  this  way :  Common,  every- 
day folks — them  with  narrer  minds — ain't  much  use  for 
my  kind  of  Jews.  I'm  livin'  here  in  a  mess  of  'em.  Most 
of  'em's  shortwood  gatherers.  When  I  found  out  about 
the  man  on  the  cross,  I  told  it  right  out  loud  to  'em  all. 
....  You're  one  of  'em.  You're  a  Gentile,  Jinnie." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  girl  sadly. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be.  Peg's  one,  too,  but  she's  got  God's 
mark  on  her  soul  as  big  as  any  of  them  women  belongin' 

to  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob 1  ain't  sure  but  it's  a 

mite  bigger." 


66  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

The  speaker  worked  a  while,  bringing  the  nails  from  his 
lips  in  rapid,  even  succession.  Peg  was  the  one  bright 
spot  that  shone  out  of  his  wonderful  yesterdays.  She  was 
the  one  link  that  fastened  him  securely  to  a  useful  to- 
morrow. 

Virginia  counted  the  nails  mechanically  as  they  were 
driven  into  the  leather,  and  as  the  last  one  disappeared, 
she  said: 

"Are  you  always  happy,  Lafe,  when  you're  smiling? 
Why,  you  smile — when — even  when — "  she  stammered, 
caught  her  breath,  and  finished,  "even  when  Mrs.  Peggy 
barks." 

An  amused  laugh  came  from  the  cobbler's  lips. 

"That's  'cause  I  know  her,  lass,"  said  he.  "Why,  when 
I  first  found  out  about  the  good  God  takin'  charge  of 
Jews  an'  Gentiles  alike,  I  told  it  to  Peg,  an',  my,  how 
she  did  hop  up  an'  down,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
She  said  I  was  meddlin'  into  things  that  had  took  men  of 
brains  a  million  years  to  fix  up. 

"But  I  knew  it  as  well  as  anything,"  he  continued. 

"God's  love  is  right  in  your  heart,  right  there He 

bent  over  and  gently  touched  the  girl. 

She  looked  up  surprised. 

"I  heard  He  was  setting  on  a  great  high  throne  up  in 
Heaven,"  she  whispered,  glancing  up,  "and  he  scowled 
dead  mad  when  folks  were  wicked." 

Lafe  smiled,  shook  his  head,  and  picked  up  his  hammer. 

"No,"  said  he.  '  "No,  no !  He's  right  around  me,  an* 
He's  right  around  you,  an'  everything  a  feller  does  or  has 
comes  from  Him." 

Virginia's  thoughts  went  back  to  an  episode  of  the 
country. 

"Docs  He  IH  lp  a  kid  knock  hell  out  of  another  kid  when 
that  kid  is  beating  a  littler  kid?" 


JUST  A  JEW  67 

Her  eyes  were  so  earnest,  so  deep  in  question,  that  the 
cobbler  lowered  his  head.  Not  for  the  world  would  he 
have  smiled  at  Virginia's  original  question.  He  scarcely 
knew  how  to  answer,  but  presently  said : 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  all  right  to  help  them  who  ain't  as 
big  as  yourself,  but  it  ain't  the  best  thing  in  the  world  to 
gad  any  one." 

"Oh,  I  never  licked  any  of  'em,"  Jinnie  assured  him. 
"I  just  wanted  to  find  out,  that's  all." 

"What'd  you  do  when  other  kids  beat  the  littler  ones  ?" 
demanded  the  cobbler. 

"Just  shoved  'em  down  on  the  ground  and  set  on  'em, 
damn  'em !"  answered  Jinnie. 

Lafe  raised  his  eyes  slowly. 

"I  was  wonderin'  if  I  dared  give  you  a  lesson,  lass,"  he 
began  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  replied  Virginia,  eagerly.  "I'd 
love  anything  you'd  tell  me." 

"Well,  I  was  wonderin'  if  you  knew  it  was  wicked  to 
swear  ?" 

Like  a  shot  came  a  pang  through  her  breast.  She  had 
offended  her  friend. 

"Wicked  ?  Wicked  ?"  she  gasped.  "You  say  it's  wicked 
to  swear,  cobbler?" 

Lafe  nodded.     "Sure,  awful  wicked,"  he  affirmed. 

Virginia  took  a  long  breath. 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  she  murmured.  "Father  said  it 
wasn't  polite,  but  that's  nothing.  How  is  it  wicked,  cob- 
bler?" 

Lafe  put  two  nails  into  position  in  the  leather  sole  and 
idrove  them  deep ;  then  he  laid  down  the  hammer  again. 

"You  remember  my  tellin'  you  this  morning  of  the  man 
with  angels,  white  angels,  hoverin'  about  the  earth  helpin* 
folks?" 


68  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Yes,"  answered  Virginia. 

"Well,  He  said  it  was  wicked." 

An  awe-strickeii  glance  fell  upon  the  speaker. 

"Did  He  tell  you  so,  Lafe?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lafe.  "It  ain't  a  question  of  politeness 
at  all,  but  just  bein'  downright  wicked.  See,  kid?" 

"Yes,  cobbler,  I  do  now,"  Jinnie  answered,  hanging  her 
head.  "Nobody  but  Matty  ever  told  me  nothing  before. 
I  guess  she  didn't  know  much  about  angels,  though." 

"Well,"  continued  Lafe,  going  back  to  his  story,  "God 
give  his  little  boy  Jesus  to  a  mighty  good  man  an'  a  fine 
woman — as  fine  as  Peg — to  bring  up.  An'  Joseph  trun- 
dled the  little  feller  about  just  as  I  did  my  little  Lafe,  an' 
bye-an'-bye  when  the  boy  grew,  He  worked  as  his  Father 
in  Heaven  wanted  him  to.  The  good  God  helped  Joseph 
an'  Mary  to  bring  the  Christ  down  face  to  face  with  us — 
Jews  an'  Gentiles  alike." 

"With  you  and  me  ?"  breathed  Virginia,  solemnly. 

"With  you  an'  me,  child,"  repeated  the  cobbler  in  sub- 
dued tones. 

Virginia  walked  to  the  window  and  drummed  on  the 
pane.  Through  mere  force  of  habit  the  cobbler  bent  his 
head  and  caught  the  tacks  between  his  teeth.  He  did  it 
mechanically ;  he  was  thinking  of  the  future.  In  the  plan 
of  events  which  Lafe  had  worked  out  for  himself  and  Peg, 
there  was  but  one  helper,  and  each  day  some  new  demon- 
stration came  to  make  his  faith  the  brighter.  In  the 
midst  of  his  meditation,  Jinnie  returned  to  her  seat. 

"Cobbler,  will  you  do  something  I  ask  you?" 

"Sure,"  assented  Lafe. 

"Get  busy  trusting  Peg'll  get  the  two  dollars  to-night." 

'*!  have  long  ago,  child,  an'  she's  goin'  to  grt  it,  too. 
That's  one  blessin'  about  belicvin'.  No  one  nor  nobody 
can  keep  you  from  gettin'  what's  your  own." 


JUST  A  JEW  69 

"Mrs.  Peggy  doesn't  think  that  way,"  remarked  Vir- 
ginia, with  keen  memories  of  Mrs.  Grandoken's  snapping 
teeth. 

"No,  not  yet,  but  I'm  trustin'  she  will.  You  see  how 
'tis  in  this  shop.  Folks  is  poor  around  here.  I  trust  'em 
all,  Jews  and  Gentiles  alike,  but  Peg  thinks  I  ought  to 
have  the  money  the  minute  the  work's  done.  But  I  know 
no  man  can  keep  my  money  from  me,  so  I  soothe  her  down 
till  she  don't  whine  any  more.  That's  how  I  know  her 
bark's  worser'n  her  bite.  Didn't  I  tell  you  about  the  bis- 
cuit?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Virginia,  "and  I  hope  it'll  only  be  bark 
about  the  money ;  what  if  she  didn't  get  it  ?" 

"She'll  get  it,"  assured  Lafe,  positively. 

Just  before  bed  time  Lafe  whispered  in  Jinnie's  ear, 
"Peggy  got  the  two !  I  told  you  she  would.  God's  good, 
child,  and  we've  all  got  Him  in  us  alike." 

And  that  night,  as  the  air  waxed  colder  and  colder,  Vir- 
ginia Singleton,  daughter  of  the  rich,  slept  her  tired  sleep 
amid  the  fighters  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"EVERT  HAND  SHALL  DO  ITS  SHARE,"  QUOTH  PEG. 

THE  fifth  day  of  Jinnie's  stay  in  the  cobbler's  home 
crept  out  of  the  cold  night  accompanied  by  the  worst 
blizzard  ever  known  along  the  lake.  Many  times,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  protecting  overhanging  hills,  the  wood 
gatherers*  huts  would  have  been  swept  quite  away.  As  it 
was,  Jinnie  felt  the  shack  tremble  and  sway,  and  doubted 
its  ability  to  withstand  the  onslaught. 

After  breakfast  found  Lafe  and  Jinnie  conversing  in- 
terestedly in  the  shop.  The  cobbler  allowed  several  bright 
nails  to  fall  into  his  palm  before  he  answered  the  ques- 
tion which  was  worrying  the  girl. 

"There  ain't  no  use  troublin'  about  it,  child,"  com- 
mented he.  "We  can't  starve." 

"If  I  could  only  work,"  said  Jinnie  gloomily,  "I  bet 
Peg'd  soon  like  me,  because  she  wouldn't  have  to  go  out 
in  the  cold  at  all.  But  you  think  it'd  be  bad  for  me,  eh, 
Lafe?" 

"Well,  you  couldn't  go  around  to  the  factories  or  stores 
very  well,"  replied  Lafe.  "You  see  your  uncle's  tryin'  to 
trace  you.  I  showed  you  that  this  mornin'  in  the  paper, 
didn't  I,  where  he  mourned  over  you  as  lost  after  findin' 
your  father  dead?" 

Jinnie  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  read  it,"  she  said. 

"An5  he  can't  get  your  money  for  seven  years.  That 
makes  him  madder'n  a  hatter,  of  course." 

70 


"EVERY  HAND  ITS  SHARE"   71 

"If  he'd  let  me  alone,  I'd  just  as  soon  give  him  the 
money,"  Jinnie  said  mournfully. 

Lafe  shook  his  head. 

"The  law  wouldn't  let  you,  till  you  was  of  age.  No, 
sir,  you'd  either  have  to  die  a  natural  death  or — another 
kind,  an'  you're  a  pretty  husky  young  kid  to  die  natural." 

"I  don't  want  to  die  at  all,"  shivered  Jinnie. 

Lafe  encouraged  her  with  a  smile. 

"If  he  finds  you,"  pursued  Lafe,  "I'd  have  to  give  you 
up.  I  couldn't  do  anything  else.  We  might  pray  'bout 
it." 

A  wistful  expression  came  over  Jinnie's  face. 

"Is  praying  anything  like  wishing,  cobbler?" 

"Somethin'  the  same,"  replied  Mr.  Grandoken,  "with 
this  difference — wishin'  is  askin'  somethin'  out  of  some- 
where of  some  one  you  don't  know;  pray  in'  is  just  talkin' 
to  some  one  you're  acquainted  with !  See?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  responded  the  girl.  "Your  way  is 
mostly  praying,  isn't  it,  Lafe?" 

"Prayin's  more  powerful  than  wishin',  lass,"  said  Lafe. 
"When  I  was  first  paralyzed,  I  done  a  lot  of  wishin'.  I 
hadn't  any  acquaintance  with  anybody  but  Peggy.  After 
that  I  took  up  with  God,  an'  He's  been  awful  good  to  me." 

"He's  been  good  to  me,  too,  Lafe,  bringing  me  here." 

This  seemed  to  be  a  discovery  to  Virginia,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  her  brain  was  alive  with  new  hopes.  Sud- 
denly she  drew  her  chair  in  front  of  Grandoken. 

"Will  to-morrow  ever  be  to-day,  cobbler?" 

Lafe  looked  at  the  solemn-faced  girl  with  smiling,  kind- 
ly eyes. 

"Sure,  kid,  sure,"  he  asserted.  "When  you  get  done 
wishin'  an'  there  ain't  nothin'  left  in  the  world  to  want, 
then  to-morrow's  to-day." 

Jinnie  smiled  dismally.     "There'd  never  be  a  day,  cob- 


72  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

bier,  that  I  couldn't  think  of  something  I'd  like  for  you — 
and  Peg." 

Lafe  meditated  an  instant  before  replying.     Then: 

"I've  found  out  that  we're  always  happier,  kid,  when 
we've  got  a  to-morrow  to  look  to,"  said  he,  "  'cause  when 
you're  just  satisfied,  somethin's  very  apt  to  go  smash.  I 
was  that  way  once." 

He  paused  for  some  seconds. 

"Jinnie,"  he  murmured,  "I  haven't  told  you  how  I  lost 
the  use  of  my  legs,  have  I?" 

"No,  Lafe." 

"Well,  as  I  was  sayin,'  there  didn't  used  to  be  any  to- 
morrow for  me.  I  always  lived  just  for  that  one  day.  I 
had  Peg  an'  the  boy.  I  could  work  for  'm,  an'  that 
was  enough.  It's  more'n  lots  of  men  get  in  this  world." 

His  voice  trailed  into  a  whisper  and  ceased.  He  was 
living  for  the  moment  in  the  glory  of  his  past  usefulness. 
The  rapt,  wrinkled  face  shone  as  if  it  had  been  touched 
by  angel  fingers.  Virginia  watched  him  reverently. 

"It's  more'n  two  years  ago,  now,"  proceeded  the  cob- 
bler presently,  "an*  I  was  workin'  on  one  of  them  tall  up- 
town buildin's.  Jimmy  Malligan  worked  right  alongside 
of  me.  We  was  great  chums,  Jimmy  an'  me.  One  day  the 
ropes  broke  on  one  of  the  scaffoldin's — at  least,  that's 
what  folks  said.  When  we  was  picked  up,  my  legs  wasn't 
worth  the  powder  to  blow  'em  up — an'  Jimmy  was  dead. 
.  .  .  But  Peg  says  I'm  just  as  good  as  ever." 

Here  Mr.  Grandoken  took  out  his  pipe  and  struck  a 
match.  "But  I  ain'ti  'Cause  them  times  Peg  didn't  have 
to  work.  We  always  had  fires  enough,  an'  didn't  live  like 
this.  But,  as  I  was  say  in,'  me  an'  Peg  just  kinder  lived 
in  to-day.  Now,  when  I  hope  that  mebbe  I'll  walk  again, 

I'm  always  measurin'  up  to-morrow Peg's  the  best 

woman  in  the  world." 


"EVERY.  HAND  ITS  SHARE"       73 

Jinnie  shivered  as  a  gust  of  wind  rattled  the  window 
pane. 

"She  makes  awful  good  hot  mush,"  she  commented. 

"Anyhow,"  went  on  Lafe,  "I  was  better  off'n  Jimmy,  be- 
cause he  was  stone  dead.  There  wasn't  any  to-day  or  to- 
morrow for  him,  an'  I've  still  got  Peggy." 

"And  this  shop,"  supplemented  the  girl,  glancing  around 
admiringly. 

"Sure,  this  shop,"  assented  Lafe.  "I  had  clean  plumb 
forgot  this  shop — I  mean,  for  the  minute — but  I  wouldn't 
a  forgot  it  long." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  set  to  work. 

Neither  girl  nor  man  spoke  for  a  while,  and  it  wasn't 
until  Lafe  heard  Peg's  voice  growling  at  one  of  Milly's 
kittens  that  he  ceased  his  tick-tack. 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  join  my  club,  lass,  would  you?" 
he  ventured. 

Jinnie  looked  up  quickly. 

"Of  course  I  would,"  she  said  eagerly.  "What  kind  of 
a  club  is  it?" 

The  girl's  faith  in  the  cobbler  was  so  great  that  if 
Lafe  had  commanded  her  to  go  into  danger,  she  wouldn't 
have  hesitated. 

"Tell  me  what  the  club  is,  Lafe,"  she  repeated. 

"Sure,"  responded  Lafe.  "Come  here  an'  shake  hands ! 
All  you  have  to  do  to  be  a  member  of  my  club  is  to  be 
'Happy  in  Spite'  an'  believe  everythin'  happenin'  is  for 
the  best." 

A  mystified  expression  filled  the  girl's  earnest  blue  eyes. 

"I'm  awful  happy,"  she  sighed,  "and  I'm  awful  glad  to 
come  in  your  club,  but  I  just  don't  understand  what  it 
means." 

The  cobbler  paid  no  attention  for  some  moments.  He 
was  looking  out  of  the  window,  in  a  far-away  mood,  dream- 


74  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

ing  of  an  active  past,  when  Jinnie  accidentally  knocked 
a  hammer  from  the  bench.  Lafe  Grandoken  glanced  in 
the  girl's  direction. 

"I'm  happy  in  spite — "  he  murmured.  Then  he  stopped 
abruptly,  and  his  hesitation  made  the  girl  repeat : 

"Happy  in  spite?"  with  a  rising  inflection.  "What  does 
that  mean,  Lafe?" 

Lafe  began  to  work  desperately. 

"It  means  just  this,  kid.  I've  got  a  little  club  all  my 
own,  an'  I've  named  it  'Happy  in  Spite.' '  His  eyes  gath- 
ered a  mist  as  he  whispered,  "Happy  in  spite  of  every- 
thing that  ain't  just  what  I  want  it  to  be.  Happy  in 
spite  of  not  walkin' — happy  in  spite  of  Peg's  workin'." 

Virginia  raised  unsmiling,  serious  eyes  to  the  speaker. 

"I  want  to  come  in  your  club,  too,  Lafe,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  need  to  be  happy  in  spite  of  lots  of  things,  just 
like  you,  cobbler." 

A  long  train  steamed  by.  Jinnie  went  to  the  window, 
and  looked  out  upon  it.  When  the  noise  of  the  engine  and 
the  roar  of  the  cars  had  ceased,  she  whirled  around. 

"Cobbler,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I've  been  thinking 
a  lot  since  yesterday." 

"Come  on  an'  tell  me  about  it,  lassie,"  said  Lafe. 

She  sat  down,  hitching  her  chair  a  bit  nearer  him, 
leaned  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  buried  a  dimpled  chin 
in  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

"Do  you  suppose,  Lafe,  if  a  girl  believed  in  the  angels, 
anybody  could  hurt  her?" 

"I  know  they  couldn't,  kid,  an'  it's  as  true's  Heaven." 

"Well,  then,  why  can't  I  go  out  and  work?" 

Lafe  paused  and  looked  over  his  spectacles. 

"Peggy  says,  'Every  hand  should  do  its  share',"  he 
quoted. 

Jinnie  winced  miserably.     She  picked  up  several  nails 


"EVERY  HAND  ITS  SHARE"       75 

from  the  floor.  It  was  a  pretext  for  an  activity  to  cover 
her  embarrassment. 

The  cobbler  allowed  her  to  busy  herself  a  while  in  this 
way.  Then  he  said : 

"Sit  in  the  chair  an'  wrap  up  in  the  blankets,  Jinnie.  I 
want  to  talk  with  you." 

She  did  as  she  was  bidden,  sitting  quietly  until  the  man 
chose  to  speak. 

"I  guess  you're  beginnin'  to  believe,"  said  he,  at  length, 
"an'  if  you  do,  a  world  full  of  uncles  couldn't  hurt  you. 
Peg  says  as  how  you  got  to  work  if  you  stay,  an'  if  you 
have  the  faith " 

Jinnie  rose  tremblingly. 

"I  know  I'll  be  all  right,"  she  cried.  "I  just  know  you 
and  me  believing  would  keep  me  safe." 

Her  eagerness  caused  Lafe  to  draw  the  girl  to  him. 

"Can  you  holler  good  an'  loud?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  shot  him  a  curious  glance. 

"Sure  I  can." 

"Can  you  walk  on  icy  walks " 

"Oh,  I'm  as  strong  as  anything,"  Jinnie  cut  in,  glanc- 
ing downward  at  herself. 

"I  know  a  lot  of  kids  who  earn  money,"  said  Lafe  med- 
itatively. 

"What  do  they  do?" 

"Get  wood  out  of  the  marsh  behind  the  huts  there. 
Some  of  'em  keeps  families  on  it." 

"Sell  wood!    And  there's  lots  of  it,  Lafe?" 

"Lots,"  replied  Lafe. 

Sell  wood!  The  very  words,  new,  wonderful,  and  full 
of  action,  rang  through  Jinnie's  soul  like  sweet  sounding 
bells.  Waves  of  unknown  sensations  beat  delightfully 
upon  her  girlish  heart.  If  she  brought  in  a  little  money 
every  day,  Peggy  would  be  kinder.  She  could;  she  was 


76  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

sure  she  could.    She  was  drawn  from  her  whirling  thoughts 
by  the  cobbler's  voice. 

"Could  you  do  it,  kid?  People  could  think  your  name 
was  Jinnie  Grandoken." 

Jinnie  choked  out  a  reply. 

"And  mebbe  I  could  make  ten  cents  a  day." 

"I  think  you  could,  Jinnie,  an'  here's  Lafe  right  ready 
to  help  you." 

Virginia  Singleton  felt  quite  faint.  She  sat  down,  her 
heart  beating  under  her  knit  jacket  twice  as  fast  as  a  girl's 
heart  ought  to  beat.  Lafe  had  suddenly  opened  up  a 
path  to  usefulness  and  glory  which  even  in  her  youthful 
dreams  had  never  appeared  to  her. 

"Call  Peggy,"  said  Lafe. 

Soon  Peg  stood  before  them,  with  a  questioning  face. 

"The  kid's  goin'  to  work,"  announced  Lafe.  "We're 
got  a  way  of  keepin'  her  uncle  off'n  her  trail." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  looked  from  her  husband  to  Virginia. 

"I  want  to  work  like  other  folks,"  the  girl  burst  forth, 
looking  pleadingly  at  the  shoemaker's  wife. 

Peggy  wiped  her  arms  violently  upon  her  apron,  and 
there  flashed  across  her  face  an  inscrutable  expression 
that  Lafe  had  learned  to  read,  but  which  frightened  the 
newcomer. 

Oh,  how  Jinnie  wanted  to  do  something  to  help  them 
both!  Now,  at  this  moment,  when  there  seemed  a  likeli- 
hood of  being  industriously  useful,  Jinnie  loved  them  the 
more.  She  was  going  to  work,  and  into  her  active  little 
brain  came  the  sound  of  pennies,  and  the  glint  of  silver. 

"I  want  to  work,  Peggy,"  she  beseeched,  "and  I'll  make 
a  lot  of  money  for  you." 

"Every  hand  ought  to  do  its  share,"  observed  Peg,  stol- 
idly, glancing  at  the  girl's  slender  fingers.  They  looked 
so  small,  so  unused  to  hard  work,  that  she  turned  away. 


"EVERY  HAND  ITS  SHAKE"   77 

An  annoying,  gripping  sensation  attacked  her  suddenly, 
but  in  another  minute  she  faced  the  girl  again. 

"If  you  do  it,  miss,  don't  flounce  round's  if  you  owned 
the  hull  of  Paradise  Road,  'cause  it'll  be  nothin'  to  your 
credit,  whatever  you  do.  You  didn't  make  yourself." 

At  the  door  she  turned  and  remarked,  "You've  got 
t'have  a  shoulder  strap  to  hold  the  wood,  an'  you  musn't 
carry  too  much  to  onct.  It  might  hurt  your  back." 

"I'll  be  careful,"  gulped  Jinnie,  "and  mebbe  I  could  help 
make  the  strap,  eh,  Lafe?" 

An  hour  later  Jinnie  was  running  a  long  needle  through 
a  tough  piece  of  leather.  She  was  making  the  strap  to 
peddle  shortwood,  and  a  happier  girl  never  breathed. 

Peg  watched  her  without  comment  as  Lafe  fitted  the 
strap  about  her  shoulders.  In  fact,  there  was  nothing  for 
the  woman  to  say,  when  the  violet  eyes  were  fixed  ques- 
tioningly  upon  her.  Peggy  thought  of  the  hunger  which 
would  be  bound  to  come  if  any  hands  were  idle,  so  she  mut- 
tered in  excuse,  "There's  nothin'  like  gettin'  used  to  a 
thing." 

"It's  a  fine  strap,  isn't  it,  Lafe?"  asked  the  girl.  "It's 
almost  as  good  as  a  cart." 

"You  can't  use  a  cart  in  the  underbrush,"  explained 
Lafe.  "That's  why  the  twig  gatherers  use  straps." 

"I  see,"  murmured  Jinnie. 

When  the  cobbler  and  girl  were  once  more  alone  to- 
gether, they  had  a  serious  confab.  They  decided  that 
every  penny  Jinnie  brought  in  should  go  to  enriching  the 
house,  and  the  girl's  eyes  glistened  as  she  heard  the  shoe- 
maker list  over  the  things  that  would  make  them  com- 
fortable. 

Most  delightful  thoughts  came  to  endow  the  girl's  men- 
tal world,  which  now  reached  from  the  cobbler's  shop  to 
the  marsh,  over  a  portion  of  the  city,  and  back  again.  It 


78  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

was  rosy-hued,  bright,  sparkling  with  the  pennies  and 
nickels  she  intended  to  earn.  All  her  glory  would  come 
with  the  aid  of  that  twig  gatherer's  leather  strap.  She 
looked  down  upon  it  with  a  proud  toss  of  her  head.  Jin- 
nie  was  recovering  the  independent  spirit  which  had  dom- 
inated her  when  she  had  wandered  alone  on  the  hills  away 
to  the  north. 

"I  wouldn't  wonder  if  I'd  make  fifteen  cents  some  days," 
she  remarked  later  at  the  supper  table. 

"If  you  make  ten,  you'll  be  doin'  well,  an'  you  and 
Lafe'll  probably  bust  open  with  joy  if  you  do,"  snapped 
Peg.  "Oh,  Lord,  I'm  gettin'  sick  to  my  stomick  hearin' 
you  folks  brag.  Go  to  bed  now,  kid,  if  you're  to  work  to- 
morrow." 

Jinnie  fell  asleep  to  dream  that  her  hand  was  full  of 
pennies,  and  her  pockets  running  over  with  nickels.  She 
was  just  stooping  to  pick  up  some  money  from  the  side- 
walk when  Peg's  voice  pierced  her  ear, 

"Kid,"  said  she,  "it's  mornin',  an*  your  first  workin' 
day.  Now  hurry  your  lazy  bones  an'  get  dressed." 


CHAPTER    IX 

BY  THE  SWEAT  OF  HER  BROW 

OVER  the  bridge  into  Paradise  Road  went  the  lithe, 
buoyant  figure  of  a  girl,  a  loose  strap  hanging  from  one 
straight  shoulder.  Jinnie  was  radiantly  happy,  for  her 
first  day  had  netted  the  family  twenty  cents,  and  if  Par- 
adise Road  had  been  covered  with  eggs,  she  would  not 
have  broken  many  in  her  flight  homeward.  If  she  had  been 
more  used  to  Mrs.  Grandoken,  she  would  have  understood 
the  peculiar  tightening  at  the  corners  of  the  woman's  thin 
lips  when  she  delivered  the  precious  pittance.  Virginia 
searched  the  other's  face  for  the  least  sign  of  approbation. 
She  wished  Peg  would  kiss  her,  but,  of  course,  she  dared 
not  suggest  it.  To  have  a  little  show  of  affection  seemed 
to  Jinnie  just  then  the  most  desirable  thing  in  the  world, 
but  the  cobbler's  wife  merely  muttered  as  she  went  away 
to  the  kitchen,  and  Virginia,  sighing,  sat  down. 

"Now  suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it,  Jinnie,"  Lafe 
suggested  smilingly ;  "just  where  you  went  an'  how  you 
earned  all  the  money." 

Fatigued  almost  beyond  the  point  of  rehearsing  her 
experiences,  Jinnie  took  Milly  Ann  on  her  lap  and  curled 
up  in  the  chair. 

"I  guess  I've  walked  fifteen  miles,"  she  began.  "You 
know  most  folks  don't  want  wood." 

Lafe  took  one  sidewise  glance  at  the  beautiful  face.  He 
remembered  a  picture  he  had  once  seen  of  an  angel.  Jin- 
nie's  face  was  like  that  picture. 

79 


80  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Well,  first,  Lafe,"  she  recounted,  "I  gathered  the  wood 
in  the  marsh,  then  I  went  straight  across  the  back  field 
through  the  swamp.  It's  froze  over  harder'n  hell— 

Lafe  uttered  a  little,  "Sh!"  and  Jinnie,  with  scarlet 
face,  supplemented, 

"I  mean  harder'n  anything" 

"Sure,"  replied  Lafe,  nodding. 

"Mr.  Bates  and  his  kids  were  there,  but  he  c'n  carry  a 
pile  three  times  biggcr'n  I  can !" 

"Well,  you're  only  a  child.  Sometimes  Bates  can't  sell 
all  he  gets,  though." 

"I  sold  all  mine,"  asserted  Jinnie,  brightening. 

The  cobbler  recalled  the  history  of  Jinnie's  lonely  little 
life — of  how  during  those  first  fifteen  years  no  kindly  soul 
had  given  her  counsel,  and  now  his  heart  glowed  with 
thanksgiving  as  he  realized  that  she  was  growing  in  faith 
and  womanliness.  He  wanted  Jinnie  to  give  credit  where 
credit  was  due,  so  he  said, 

"You  sold  your  wood  because  you  had  a  helpin'  hand." 

Jinnie  was  about  to  protest. 

"I  mean "  breathed  Lafe. 

"Oh,  angels!  Eh?"  interrupted  the  girl.  "Yes,  I  sold 
my  last  two  cents'  worth  by  saying  what  you  told  me — 'He 
gives  His  angels  charge  over  thee' — and,  zip !  a  woman 
bought  the  last  bundle  and  gave  me  a  cent  more'n  I  charged 
her." 

"Good!"  Lafe  was  highly  pleased.  "It'll  work  every 
time,  an'  to  make  -a  long  story  short,  it  works  on  boots 
an'  shoes,  too." 

"Wood's  awful  heavy,"  Jinnie  decided,  irrelevantly. 

"Sure,"  soothed  Lafe  again.  He  hesitated  a  minute, 
drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  continued,  "An',  by  the 
way,  Jinnie " 

Jinnie's  receptive  face  caused  the  cobbler  to  proceed: 


BY  THE  SWEAT  OF  HER  BROW      81 

"I  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  Bates'  son  Maudlin, 
if  I  was  you  .  .  .  He's  a  bad  lot." 

Jinnie's  head  drooped.    She  flushed  to  her  hair. 

"I  saw  him  to-day,"  she  replied.  "He's  got  wicked  eyes. 
I  hate  boys  who  wink !" 

A  look  of  desperation  clouded  the  fair  young  face,  and 
the  cobbler,  looking  at  the  slender  girlish  figure,  and  think- 
ing the  while  of  Maudlin  Bates,  suddenly  put  out  his  hand. 

"Come  here,  lassie,"  he  said. 

Another  flame  of  color  mounted  to  Jinnie's  tousled  hair. 
With  hanging  head,  she  pushed  Milly  Ann  from  her  lap 
and  walked  to  the  cobbler's  side. 

"What  did  Maudlin  say  to  you?"  he  demanded. 

"He  said  he'd — he'd  crack  my  twigs  for  me  if — if  I'd 
kiss  him,  and  he  pinched  me  when  I  wouldn't." 

Anger  and  deep  resentment  displayed  themselves  on 
Lafe's  pale  face. 

"Jinnie,  lass,"  he  breathed.  "I  c'n  trust  you,  child. 
Can't  I  trust  you?  You  wouldn't " 

Jinnie  drew  away  from  Lafe's  embrace. 

"I  guess  I'd  rather  be  killed'n  have  Maudlin  kiss  me," 
she  cried  passionately.  * 

Just  then  Peg  came  to  the  door. 

"Run  to  the  butcher's  for  a  bit  of  chopped  steak,  Jin- 
nie," she  ordered,  "an'  make  your  head  save  your  heels  by 
bringin'  in  some  bread." 

Jinnie  jumped  up  quickly. 

"Please  use  some  of  my  money  to  buy  'em,  Peggy,"  she 
begged.  "Oh,  please  do." 

Peggy  eyed  her  sternly. 

"Kid,"  she  warned.  "I  want  to  tell  you  something  be- 
fore you  go  any  farther  in  life.  You  may  be  smart,  but 
'tain't  no  credit  to  you,  'cause  you  didn't  make  yourself. 
I'm  tellin'  you  this  for  fear  makin'  so  much  money'll  turn 


82  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

jour  head  .  .  .  Here's  your  ten  cents.  .  .  .  Now  go 
along." 

After  Jinnie  had  gone,  Mrs.  Grandoken  sat  down  op- 
posite her  husband. 

"The  girl  looks  awful  tired,"  she  offered,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

"She's  been  earnin'  her  livin'  by  the  sweat  of  her  brow," 
replied  Lafe,  with  a  wan  smile. 

"Mebbe  she'll  get  used  to  it,"  growled  Peg.  "Of  course 
I  don't  like  her,  but  I  don't  want  her  hurt.  'Twon't  make 
her  sick,  will  it?" 

"No,  she's  as  strong  as  a  little  ox.  She's  got  enougli 
strength  in  her  body  to  work  ten  times  harder,  but  Peg 
"  Here  Lafe  stopped  and  looked  out  to  the  hill  be- 
yond the  tracks,  "but,  Peggy,  perhaps  we  c'n  find  her 
somethin'  else  after  a  while,  when  there  ain't  so  much  fear 
of  her  uncle.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  Peg,  danger 
of  him's  the  only  thing  that'll  keep  the  kid  luggin' 
wood." 

"I  was  wonderin',"  returned  Peg,  "if  we  couldn't  get 
some  one  interested  in  'er — the  Kings,  mebbe.  They're  a 
good  sort,  with  lots  of  money,  an'  are  more'n  smart." 

Lafe's  eyes  brightened  visibly,  but  saddened  again.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"We  can't  get  the  Kings  'cause  I  read  in  the  paper  last 
night  they're  gone  away  West,  to  be  gone  for  a  year  or 
more.  .  .  .  It's  a  good  idea,  though.  Some  one'll  turn 
up,  sure." 

"When  they  do-,  my  man,"  Peg  said  quickly,  "don't  be 
takin'  any  credit  to  yourself,  'cause  you  hadn't  ought  to 
take  credit  for  the  plannin'  your  sharp  brains  do." 

As  he  shook  his  head,  smiling,  she  left  him  quickly  and 
shut  the  door. 


CHAPTER    X 

ON  THE  BROAD  BOSOM  OF  THE  "HAPPY  IN  SPITE5 


THUS  for  one  year  Jinnie  went  forth  in  the  morning  to 
gather  her  shortwood,  and  to  sell  it  in  the  afternoon. 

Peg  always  gave  her  a  biscuit  to  eat  during  her  fore- 
noon's work,  and  Jinnie,  going  from  house  to  house  later, 
was  often  presented  with  a  "hunk  of  pie,"  as  she  after- 
wards told  Lafe.  If  a  housewife  gave  her  an  apple,  she 
would  take  it  home  to  the  cobbler  and  his  wife. 

Late  one  afternoon,  at  the  close  of  a  bitter  day,  Jinnie 
had  finished  her  work  and  was  resting  on  the  door  sill  of 
an  empty  house  on  an  uptown  corner. 

She  drew  forth  her  money  in  girlish  pride.  Twenty- 
seven  cents  was  what  she'd  earned, — two  cents  more  than 
any  day  since  she  began  working.  This  money  meant 
much  to  Jinnie.  She  hadn't  yet  received  a  kiss  from  Mrs. 
Grandoken,  but  was  expecting  it  daily.  Perhaps  when 
two  cents  more  were  dropped  into  her  hand,  Peggy  might, 
just  for  the  moment,  forget  herself  and  unwittingly  ex- 
press some  little  affection  for  her. 

With  this  joyous  anticipation  the  girl  recounted  her 
money,  retained  sufficient  change  for  the  dinner  meat,  and 
slipped  the  rest  into  her  jacket  pocket.  She  rose  and  had 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  market  when  a  clamor  near 
the  bridge  made  her  pause.  A  crowd  of  men  and  boys 
were  running  directly  toward  her.  Above  their  wild  shouts 
could  be  heard  the  orders  of  a  policeman,  and  now  and 
then  the  frightened  cry  of  a  small  child. 

83 


84  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

At  first  Jinnie  noticed  only  the  people.  Then  her  eyes 
lowered  and  she  saw,  racing  toward  her,  a  small,  black, 
woolly  dog.  The  animal,  making  a  wild  dash  for  his  life, 
had  in  his  anguish  lost  his  mental  balance,  for  he  took  no 
heed  as  to  where  he  ran  nor  what  he  struck.  A  louder  cry 
of  derision  rose  up  from  many  throats  as  the  small  beast 
scuttled  between  the  legs  of  a  farmer's  horse,  which  gave 
him  a  moment's  respite  from  his  tormentors. 

An  instant  later  they  were  clamoring  again  for  his  un- 
happy little  life.  Suddenly  he  ran  headlong  into  a  tree, 
striking  his  shaggy  head  with  terrific  force.  Then  he 
curled  up  in  a  limp  little  heap,  just  as  Jinnie  reached  him. 

Before  Maudlin  Bates,  the  leader  of  the  crowd,  arrived, 
the  girl  had  picked  up  the  insensible  dog  and  thrust  him 
under  her  jacket. 

"He's  dead,  I  guess,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  the  boy's 
face,  "I'll  take  him  to  the  cobbler's  shop  and  bury  him 
.  .  .  He  isn't  any  good  when  he's  dead." 

Maudlin  Bates  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  put  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  and  allowed  his  eyes  to  rove  over  the  girl's 
straight  young  figure. 

"Billy  Maybee  was  tryin'  to  tie  a  tin  can  to  his  tail," 
he  explained,  stuttering,  "and  the  cur  snapped  at  him. 
We  was  goin*  to  hit  his  head  against  the  wall." 

"He's  dead  now,"  assured  Jinnie  once  more.  "It  isn't 
any  use  to  smash  dead  dogs." 

This  reasoning  being  unanswerable,  Maudlin  turned 
grumblingly  away. 

Jinnie's  heart  beat  loudly  with  living  hope.  Perhaps 
the  little  dog  wasn't  dead.  Oh,  how  she  hoped  he'd  live ! 
She  stopped  half  way  home,  and  pushed  aside  her  jacket 
and  peeped  down  at  him.  He  was  still  quite  limp,  and  the 
girl  hurried  on.  She  did  not  even  wait  to  buy  the  meat 
nor  the  bread  Peg  had  asked  her  to  bring  in. 


"HAPPY  IN   SPITE"  85 

As  she  hurried  across  the  tracks,  she  saw  Grandoken 
sitting  in  the  window. 

He  saluted  her  with  one  hand,  but  as  she  was  using  both 
of  hers  to  hold  the  dog,  she  only  smiled  in  return,  with  a 
bright  nod  of  her  head. 

Once  in  the  shop,  she  looked  about  cautiously. 

"I've  got  something,  Lafe,"  she  whispered,  "something 
you'll  like." 

When  she  displayed  the  hurt  dog,  Lafe  put  out  his 
han<J. 

"la  the  little  critter  dead?"  he  asked  solemnly. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not !"  replied  Jinnie,  and  excitedly  explained 
the  episode. 

Lafe  took  the  foundling  in  his  hands,  turning  the  limp 
body  over  and  over. 

"Jinnie,  go  ask  Peg  to  bring  some  hot  water  in  a  pan," 
he  said.  "We'll  give  the  little  feller  a  chanct  to  live." 

Peg  came  in  with  a  basin  of  water,  stared  at  the  wide- 
eyed  girl  and  her  smiling  husband,  then  down  upon  the 
dog. 

"Well,  for  Lord's  sake,  where'd  you  get  that  little 
beast  ?"  she  demanded.  "  'Tain't  livin',  is  it  ?  Might  as 
well  throw  it  in  the  garbage  pail." 

Nevertheless,  she  put  down  the  basin  as  she  spoke,  and 
took  the  puppy  from  her  husband.  At  variance  with  her 
statement  that  the  dog  might  as  well  be  thrown  out,  she 
laid  him  in  the  hot  water,  rubbing  the  bruised  body  from 
the  top  of  its  head  to  the  small  stubby  tail.  During  this 
process  Lafe  had  unfastened  Jinnie's  shortwood  strap, 
and  the  girl,  free,  dropped  upon  the  floor  beside  Peg. 

Suddenly  the  submerged  body  of  the  pup  began  to  move. 

"He's  alive,  Peg!"  cried  Jinnie.  "Look  at  his  legs  a 
kicking!  .  .  .  Oh,  Lafe,  he's  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
water !" 


86  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

Peg  turned  sharply. 

"If  he  ain't  dead  already,"  she  grunted,  "you'll  kill  him 
hollerin'  like  that.  Anyway,  'tain't  no  credit  to  hisself  if 
he  lives.  He  didn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  his  bein'  born, 
an'  he  won't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  his  goin'  on  livin'. 
Shut  up,  now !  .  .  .  There,  massy  me,  he's  coming  to." 

Jinnie  squatted  upon  her  feet,  while  Lafe  wheeled  his 
chair  a  bit  nearer.  For  some  moments  the  trio  watched 
the  small  dog,  struggling  to  regain  consciousness.  Then 
Peggy  took  him  from  the  water  and  wrapped  him  care- 
fully in  her  apron. 

"Lordy,  he's  openin'  his  eyes,"  she  grinned,  "an'  you, 
girl,  you  go  in  there  by  the  fire  an'  just  hold  him  in  your 
arms.  Mebbe  he'll  come  round  all  right.  You  can't  put 
him  out  in  the  street  till  he's  better." 

For  the  larger  part  of  an  hour,  Jinnie  held  the  new- 
comer close  to  her  thumping  heart,  and  when  a  spasm  of 
pain  attacked  the  shaggy  head  resting  on  her  arm,  she 
wept  in  sympathetic  agony.  Could  Peg  be  persuaded  to 
allow  the  dog  to  stay?  She  would  promise  to  earn  an  ex- 
tra penny  to  buy  food  for  this  new  friend.  At  this  op- 
portune moment  Mrs.  Grandoken  arrived  from  the  market. 

"How's  he  comin'  on?"  she  asked,  standing  over  them. 

"Fine !"  replied  Jinnie.   "And,  Peg,  he  wants  to  stay." 

"Did  he  tell  y'  that  ?"  demanded  Peg,  grimly. 

"Well,  he  didn't  say  just  those  words,"  said  the  girl, 
"but,  Peggy,  if  he  could  talk,  he'd  tell  you  how  much  he 
loved  you " 

"Look  a  here,  kid,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Grandoken,  "that  dog 
ain't  goin'  to  stay  around  this  house,  an'  you  might  as 
well  understand  it  from  the  beginnin'.  I've  enough  to  do 
with  you  an'  Lafe  an'  those  cats,  without  fillin'  my  house 
with  sick  pups.  So  get  that  notion  right  out  of  your 
nodcll.-!  .  See?" 


"HAPPY;  IN  SPITE"  87 

Jinnie  bowed  her  head  over  the  sick  dog  and  made  a 
respectful  reply. 

"I'll  try  to  get  the  notion  out,"  said  she,  "but,  Peggy, 
oh,  Peggy  dear,  I  love  the  poor  little  thing  so  awful  much 
that  it'll  be  hard  for  me  to  throw  him  away.  Will  you 
send  him  off  when  he's  better,  and  not  ask  me  to  do  it?" 

Jinnie  cocked  her  pretty  head  inquiringly  on  one  side, 
closed  one  eye,  and  looked  at  Peg  from  the  other. 

Peggy  sniffed  a  ruse.  She  came  forward,  spread  her 
feet  a  bit,  rolling  her  hands  nervously  in  her  apron.  She 
hated  an  everlasting  show  of  feelings,  but  sometimes  it  was 
difficult  for  her  to  crush  the  emotions  which  had  so  often 
stirred  in  her  breast  since  the  girl  came  to  live  with  them. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  one  thing  right  now,  Jinnie 
Grandoken,"  she  said.  "You  brought  that  pup  into  this 
house  an'  you'll  take  him  out,  or  he  won't  get  took;  see?" 

There  was  a  certain  tone  in  Peg's  voice  the  girl  had 
heard  before. 

"Then  he  won't  get  kicked  out  't  all,  Peg,"  she  said, 
with  a  petulant,  youthful  smile.  "I  just  won't  do  it! 
Lafe  can't,  and  if  you  don't ' 

Mrs.  Grandoken  made  a  deep  noise  in  her  throat. 

"You're  a  sassy  brat,"  said  she,  "that's  what  you  are? 
An'  if  Lafe  don't  just  about  beat  the  life  out  of  you  when 
I  tell  him  about  this,  I  will,  with  my  own  hand,  right  before 
his  eyes.  That's  what " 

Jinnie  interrupted  her  eagerly.  "Lafe  won't  beat  me," 
she  answered,  "but  I'll  let  you  make  me  black  and  blue, 
Peg,  if  I  can  keep  the  puppy.  Matty  used  to  beat  me 
fine,  and  she  was  a  good  bit  stronger'n  you." 

Peggy's  eyes  drew  down  at  the  corners,  and  her  lip 
quivered. 

"Keep  him  if  you  want  to,  imp  of  Satan,  but  some  day 
here,  see  if  the  beast'U  eat  this  bit  of  meat." 


88  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie  placed  the  shivering  dog  on  the  floor,  and  Peg 
put  a  piece  of  meat  under  his  nose.  In  her  excitement, 
Jinnie  rushed  away  to  Lafe.  Peg's  mumble  followed  her 
even  through  the  closed  door. 

"Cobbler,  oh,  dear  good  Lafe,"  cried  the  girl,  "the  dog's 
living!  Peg  says  I  can  keep  'im,  and  I'm  goin'  to  fiddle 
for  him  to-night.  Do  you  think  he'll  forget  all  about  his 
hurt  if  I  do  that,  Lafe?" 

At  that  moment,  shamed  that  she  had  given  in  to  the 
importunate  Jinnie,  Mrs.  Grandoken  opened  the  shop 
door,  shoving  the  half  wet  dog  inside. 

"Here's  your  pup,  kid,"  she  growled,  "an*  y'd  best  keep 
him  from  under  my  feet  if  you  don't  want  him  stepped  on." 

The  cobbler  smiled  his  slow,  sweet  smile. 

"Peg's  heart's  bigger'n  this  house,"  he  murmured. 
"Bring  him  here,  lassie." 

The  girl,  dog  in  arms,  stood  at  the  cobbler's  side. 

"What're  you  goin'  to  name  him?"  asked  Lafe,  ten- 
derly. 

"I  dunno,  but  he's  awful  happy,  now  he's  going  to  stay 
with  us." 

"Call  Mm  'Happy  Pete',"  said  the  cobbler,  smiling,  "an* 
•we'll  take  'im  into  our  club ;  shall  we,  kid  ?" 

So  Happy.  Pete  was  gathered  that  day  into  the  bosom 
of  the  "Happy  in  Spite." 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHAT  HAPPENED   TO   JINNIE 

WITH  a  sigh  Jinnie  allowed  Lafe  to  buckle  the  short- 
wood  strap  to  her  shoulder.  Oh,  how  many  days  she  had 
gone  through  a  similar  operation  with  a  similar  little  sigh ! 

It  was  a  trying  ordeal,  that  of  collecting  and  selling 
kindling  wood,  for  the  men  of  Paradise  Road  took  the  best 
of  the  shortwood  to  be  found  in  the  nearer  swamp  and 
marsh  lands,  and  oftentimes  it  was  nearly  noon  before  the 
girl  would  begin  her  sale. 

But  the  one  real  happiness  of  her  days  lay  in  dropping 
the  pennies  she  earned  into  Peg's  hand. 

Now  Peggy  didn't  believe  in  spoiling  men  or  children, 
but  one  morning,  as  she  tied  a  scarf  about  Jinnie's  neck, 
she  arranged  the  black  curls  with  more  than  usual  ten- 
derness. 

Pausing  at  the  door  and  looking  back  at  the  woman, 
Jinnie  suddenly  threw  up  her  head  in  determination. 

"I  love  you,  Peggy,"  she  said,  drawing  in  a  long  breath. 
"Give  me  a  little  kiss,  will  you?" 

There!  The  cat  was  out  of  the  bag.  In  another  in- 
stant Jinnie  would  know  her  fate.  How  she  dared  to  ask 
such  a  thing  the  girl  could  never  afterwards  tell. 

If  Peg  kissed  her,  work  would  be  easy.  If  she  denied 

her I*eggy  glanced  at  her,  then  away  again,  her  eyes 

shifting  uneasily. 

But  after  once  taking  a  stand,  Jinnie  held  her  ground. 

89 


90  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Her  mouth  was  pursed  up  as  if  she  was  going  to  whistle. 
Would  Peg  refuse  such  a  little  request  ?  Evidently  Peggy 
would,  for  she  scoffingly  ordered. 

"Go  along  with  you,  kid — go  long,  you  flip  little  brat !" 

"I'd  like  a  kiss  awful  much,"  repeated  Jinnie,  still  stand- 
ing. Her  voice  was  low-toned  and  pleading,  her  blue  eyes 
questioningly  on  Peg's  face. 

Peg  shook  her  head. 

"I  won't  kiss  you  'cause  I  hate  you,"  she  sniffed.  "I've 
always  hated  you." 

Jinnie's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  know  it,"  she  replied  sadly,  "I  know  it,  but  I'd  like 
a  kiss  just  the  same  because —  because  I  do  love  you,  Peg." 

A  bit  of  the  same  sentiment  that  had  worried  her  for 
over  a  year  now  attacked  Mrs.  Grandoken.  Her  common 
sense  told  her  to  dash  away  to  the  kitchen,  but  a  tugging 
in  her  breast  kept  her  anchored  to  the  spot.  Suddenly, 
without  a  word,  she  snatched  the  girl  close  to  her  broad 
breast  and  pressed  her  lips  on  Jinnie's  with  resounding 
smacks. 

"There!  There!  And  there!"  she  cried,  between  the 
kisses.  "An*  if  y'  ever  tell  a  soul  I  done  it,  I'll  scrape 
every  inch  of  skin  ofFn  your  flesh,  an*  mebbe  I'll  do  some- 
thing worse,  I  hate  y'  that  bad." 

In  less  seconds  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Peg  let  Jinnie 
go,  and  the  girl  went  out  of  the  door  with  a  smiling  sigh. 

"Kisses  're  sweeter'n  roses,"  she  murmured,  walking  to 
the  track.  "I  wish  I'd  get  more  of  'em." 

She  turned  back  as  she  heard  Peg's  voice  calling  her. 

"You  might  toddle  in  an'  bring  home  a  bit  of  sausage," 
said  the  woman,  indifferently,  "an'  five  cents'  worth  of 
chopped  steak." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  watched  Jinnie  until  she  turned  the 
corner.  She  felt  a  strangling  sensation  in  her  throat. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JINNIE       91 

A  little  later  she  flung  the  kitchen  utensils  from  place  to 
place,  and  otherwise  acted  so  ugly  and  out  of  temper  that, 
had  Lafe  known  the  whole  incident,  he  would  have  smiled 
knowingly  at  the  far-off  hill  and  held  his  peace. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Jinnie  counted  seventeen  pennies, 
one  dime  and  a  nickel.  It  was  a  fortune  for  any  girl  to 
make,  and  what  was  better  yet,  buckled  to  her  young 
shoulders  in  the  shortwood  strap  was  almost  her  next 
day's  supply.  As  she  replaced  the  money  in  her  pocket 
and  walked  toward  the  market,  she  murmured  gravely, 

"Mebbe  Peg's  kisses  helped  me  to  get  it,  but — but  I 
musn't  forget  Lafe's  prayers." 

Her  smile  was  radiant  and  self-possessed.  She  was  one 
of  the  world's  workers  and  loved  Lafe  and  Peg  and  the 
world  with  her  whole  honest  young  heart. 

"Thirty-two  cents,"  she  whispered.  "That's  a  pile  of 
money.  I  wish  I  could  buy  Lafe  a  posy.  He  does  love 
'em  so,  and  he  can't  get  out  like  Peg  and  me  to  see  beau- 
tiful things." 

She  stopped  before  a  window  where  brilliant  blossoms 
were  exhibited.  Ever  since  she  began  to  work,  one  of  the 
desires  of  Jinnie's  soul  had  been  to  purchase  a  flower.  As 
she  scrutinized  the  scarlet  and  white  carnations,  the  deep 
red  roses,  and  the  twining  green  vines,  she  murmured. 

"Peg  loves  Lafe  even  if  she  does  bark  at  him.  She 
won't  mind  if  I  buy  him  one.  I'll  make  more  money  to- 
morrow." 

She  opened  the  door  of  the  shop  and  drew  her  unwieldy 
burden  carefully  inside.  A  girl  stood  back  of  the  counter. 

"How  much're  your  roses  ?"  asked  Jinnie,  nodding  tow- 
ard the  window  and  jingling  the  pennies  in  her  pocket. 

"The  white  ones're  five  cents  a  piece,"  said  the  clerk, 
"and  the  red  ones're  ten.  .  .  .  Do  y'  want  one?" 

"I'll  take  a  white  one,"  replied  the  purchaser. 


92  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Shall  I  wrap  it  in  paper?"  asked  the  other. 

"No,  I'll  carry  it  this  way.  I'd  like  to  look  at  it  going 
home." 

The  girl  passed  the  rose  to  Jinnie. 

;'It  smells  nice,  too,"  she  commented. 

'Yes,"  assented  Jinnie,  delightedly,  taking  a  whiff. 

Then  she  went  on  to  the  meat  market  to  buy  the  small 
amount  of  meat  required  for  the  three  of  them. 

One  of  the  men  grinned  at  her  from  the  back  of  the 
store,  calling,  "Hello,  kid!"  and  Maudlin  Bates,  swinging 
idly  on  a  stool,  shouted,  "What's  wanted  now,  Jinnie  ?"  and 
still  another  man  came  forward  with  the  question, 
"Where'd  you  get  the  flower,  lass?" 

"Bought  it,"  replied  Jinnie,  leaning  against  the  coun- 
ter. "I  got  it  next  door  for  the  cobbler.  He's  lame  and 
can't  get  out." 

The  market  man  turned  to  wait  upon  her. 

"Five  cents'  worth  of  chopped  meat,"  ordered  Jinnie, 
"and  four  sausages." 

"Ain't  you  afraid  you'll  overload  your  stomachs  over 
there  at  the  cobbler's  shop  ?"  laughed  one  of  the  men.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Jinnie  .  .  .  Do  you  see  that  ring  of 
sausage  hangin'  on  that  hook?" 

The  girl  nodded  wonderingly,  looking  sidewise  at 
Maudlin. 

"Well,  if  you'll  give  us  a  dance,  a  good  one,  mind  you, 
still  keepin'  the  wood  on  your  back,  I'll  buy  you  the  hull 
string.  It'll  last  a  week  the  way  you  folks  eat  meat." 

Jinnie's  face  reddened  painfully,  but  the  words  appealed 
to  her  money-earning  spirit,  and  with  a  curious  sensation 
she  glanced  around.  Could  she  dance,  with  the  wondering, 
laughing,  admiring  gaze  of  the  men  upon  her?  And  Maud- 
lin, too !  How  she  detested  his  lustful,  doltish  eyes ! 

She  straightened  her  shoulders,  considering.    The  wood 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JINNIE       93 

was  heavy,  and  the  strap,  bound  tightly  about  her  chest 
and  arms,  made  her  terribly  tired.  But  a  whole  string  of 
sausage  was  a  temptation  she  could  not  withstand.  In 
her  fertile  imagination  she  could  see  Lafe  nod  his  appro- 
bation, and  Peggy  joyously  frying  her  earnings  in  the  pan. 
She  might  even  get  three  more  kisses  when  no  one  was 
looking. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  dance,"  she  said  presently,  study- 
ing the  rose  in  her  confusion. 

"Oh,  just  anything,"  encouraged  the  man  on  the  stool. 
"I'll  whistle  a  tune." 

"Hand  her  the  sausage,  butcher;"  sniggered  Maudlin, 
"then  she'll  be  sure  of  it.  The  feel  of  it'll  make  her  dance 
better." 

The  speaker  grinned  as  the  butcher  took  the  string 
from  the  hook.  Jinnie  slipped  the  stem  of  the  cobbler's 
rose  between  her  white  teeth,  grasped  the  sausage  in  one 
hand  and  gripped  the  shortwood  strap  with  the  other. 
Then  the  man  started  a  rollicking  whistle,  and  Jinnie  took 
a  step  or  two. 

Every  one  in  the  place  drew  nearer.  Here  was  a  sight 
they  never  had  seen — a  lovely,  shy-eyed,  rosy,  embarrassed 
girl,  with  a  load  of  kindling  wood  on  the  strong  young 
shoulders,  turning  and  turning  in  the  center  of  the  mar- 
ket. In  one  hand  she  held  a  ring  of  sausage,  and  between 
her  lips  a  white  rose. 

"If  you'll  give  us  a  grand  fine  dance,  lass,"  encouraged 
the  butcher,  "you  c'n  have  the  chopped  meat,  too." 

The  man's  offer  sifted  through  Jinnie's  tired  brain  and 
stimulated  her  to  quicker  action.  She  turned  again,  shift- 
ing the  weight  more  squarely  on  her  shoulders,  her  feet 
keeping  perfect  time  with  the  shrill,  whistling  tune. 

"Faster!  Faster!"  taunted  Maudlin.  "Earn  your 
meat,  girl !  Don't  be  a  piker !" 


94  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Faster  and  faster  whirled  Jinnie,  the  heft  of  the  short- 
wood  carrying  her  about  in  great  circles.  Her  cap  had 
fallen  from  her  head,  loosing  the  glorious  curls,  and  her 
breath  whistled  past  the  stem  of  Lafe's  white  flower  like 
night  wind  past  a  taut  wire. 

Jinnie  forgot  everything  but  the  delight  of  earning 
something  for  her  loved  ones — something  that  would  bring 
a  caress  from  Lafe.  She  was  sure  of  Lafe,  very  sure ! 

As  voices  called  "Faster!"  and  still  "Faster!"  Jinnie 
let  go  the  shortwood  strap  to  fling  aside  her  curls.  Just 
at  that  moment  she  whirled  nearer  Maudlin  Bates,  who 
thrust  forth  his  great  foot  and  tripped  her.  As  she  stag- 
gered, not  one  of  those  watching  had  sense  enough  to  catch 
her  as  she  fell.  At  that  moment  the  door  swung  open  and 
Peg  Grandoken's  face  appeared.  She  looked  questioningly 
at  the  market  man. 

"I  thought  I  saw  Jinnie  come  in,"  she  hesitated 

Then  realizing  something  was  wrong,  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  stricken  girl. 

"She  was  just  earnin'  a  little  sausage  by  dancin',"  the 
butcher  excused. 

Peggy  stared  and  stared,  stunned  for  the  moment.  The 
hangdog  expression  on  Maudlin's  face  expressed  his  crime 
better  than  words  would  have  done.  Jinnie's  little  form 
was  huddled  against  the  counter,  the  shortwood  scattered 
around  her,  and  from  her  forehead  blood  was  oozing.  On 
the  slender  arm  was  the  ring  of  sausage  and  between  her 
set  teeth  was  Lafe's  pale  rose.  With  her  outraged  soul 
shining  in  her  eyes,  Peggy  gathered  the  unconscious  girl 
in  her  two  strong  arms. 

"I  bet  you  done  it,  you  damn  Maudlin!"  she  gritted, 
and  without  another  word,  left  the  market. 

Within  a  few  minutes  she  had  laid  Jinnie  on  her  bed, 
and  was  telling  Lafe  the  pathetic  story. 


CHAPTER    XII 

WATCHING 

THERE  was  absolute  quiet  in  the  home  of  the  cobbler  for 
over  a  week.  The  house  hung  heavy  with  gloom.  Jinnie 
Grandoken  was  fighting  a  ghastlier  monster  than  even  old 
Matty  had  created  for  her  amusement. 

Of  course  Jinnie  didn't  realize  this,  but  two  patient 
watchers  knew,  and  so  did  a  little  black  dog.  To  say 
that  Lafe  suffered,  as  Peggy  repeated  over  and  over  to 
him  the  story  of  Jinnie's  loving  act,  would  be  words  of 
small  import,  and  through  the  night  hours,  when  the  cob- 
bler relieved  his  wife  at  the  sick  girl's  bed,  shapes  black 
and  forbidding  rose  before  him,  menacing  the  child  he'd 
vowed  to  protect. 

Could  it  be  that  Maudlin  Bates  had  anything  to  do  with 
Jinnie's  fall?  Even  so,  he  was  powerless  to  shield  her 
from  the  young  wood  gatherer.  A  more  perplexing  prob- 
lem had  never  faced  his  paternal  soul.  After  his  little  son 
had  gone  away,  there  had  been  no  child  to  love  until — and 
now  as  he  looked  at  Jinnie,  agony  surged  through  him 
with  the  memory  of  that  other  agony — for  she  might  go 
to  little  Lafe. 

There  came  again  the  stabbing  pain  born  with  Peg's  tale 
of  the  dance.  The  white  rose  lay  withered  in  the  cobbler's 
bosom  where  it  had  been  since  his  girl  had  been  carried  to 
what  the  doctor  said  would  in  all  probability  be  her  death- 
bed. It  was  on  nights  like  this  that  dead  memories,  with 

95 


96  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

solemn  mien,  raced  from  their  graves,  haunting  the  lame 
man.  Even  Lafe's  wonderful  portion  of  faith  had  di- 
minished during  the  past  few  days.  He  found  himself 
praying  mighty  prayers  that  Jinnie  would  be  spared,  yet 
in  mental  bitterness  visualizing  her  death.  Oh,  to  keep 
yet  a  while  within  the  confines  of  his  life  the  child  he  loved ! 

"Let  'er  stay,  Lord  dear,  let  my  Rose  o'  Paradise  stay," 
Lafe  cried  out  into  the  shadowy  night,  time  and  time  again. 

Peggy  came,  as  she  often  did,  to  wheel  him  away  and 
order  him  to  bed,  but  this  evening  Lafe  told  Peg  he'd 
rather  stay  with  Jinnie. 

"She  looks  like  death,"  he  whispered  unnerved. 

"She  is  almost  dead,"  replied  the  woman  grimly. 

The  doctor  entered  with  silent  tread.  Stealing  to  the 
bed,  he  put  his  hand  on  the  girl's  brow. 

"She's  better,"  he  whispered,  smilingly.  "Look !  Damp ! 
Nothing  could  be  a  surer  sign !" 

"May  the  good  God  be  praised!"  moaned  Lafe. 

Jinnie  stirred,  lifted  her  heavy  lids,  and  surveyed  the 
room  vacantly.  Her  glance  passed  over  the  medical  man 
as  if  he  were  not  within  the  range  of  her  vision.  She 
gazed  at  Lafe  only,  with  but  a  faint  glimmer  of  recogni- 
tion, then  on  to  Peg  wavered  the  sunken  blue  eyes. 

"Drink  of  water,  Peggy  dear,"  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Grandoken  dropped  the  fluid  into  the  open, 
parched  mouth  from  a  spoon ;  then  she  bent  low  to  catch 
the  stammering  words : 

"Did  Lafe  like  the  rose,  Peggy,  and  did  you  get  the  ring 
of  sausage?" 

Peg  glanced  at  the  doctor,  a  question  struggling  to  her 
lips,  but  she  could  not  frame  the  words. 

"Tell  her  'yes',"  said  the  man  under  his  breath. 

"Lafe  just  doted  on  the  flower,  honey,"  acknowledged 
>  bending  over  the  bed,  "and  I  cooked  all  the  sau- 


WATCHING  97 

sage,  an'  we  two  et  'em.  They  was  finer'n  silk  .  .  .  Now 
go  to  sleep ;  will  you  ?" 

"Sure,"  trembled  Jinnie.  "Put  Happy  Pete  in  my 
arms,  dear." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  looked  once  more  at  the  doctor.  He 
nodded  his  head  slightly. 

So  with  the  dog  clasped  in  her  arms,  Jinnie  straightway 
fell  asleep. 

Then  Peggy  wheeled  Lafe  away  to  bed,  and  as  she 
helped  him  from  the  chair,  she  said : 

"I  lied  to  her  just  now  with  my  own  mouth,  Lafe.  I 
told  her  we  et  them  sausages.  We  couldn't  eat  'em  'cause 
they  was  all  mashed  up  an'  covered  with  blood." 

The  cobbler's  eyes  searched  the  mottled  face  of  the 
speaker. 

"That  kind  of  lies  're  blessed  by  God  in  his  Heaven, 
Peg,"  he  breathed  tenderly.  "A  lie  lendin'  a  helpin'  hand 
to  a  sick  lass  is  better'n  most  truths." 

Before  going  to  bed  Peg  peeped  in  at  Jinnie.  The  girl 
still  lay  with  her  arm  over  the  sleeping  Pete,  her  eyes  rov- 
ing round  the  room.  She  caught  sight  of  the  silent  wo- 
man, and  a  troubled  line  formed  between  her  brows. 

"How're  you  going  to  get  money  to  live,  Peggy?"  she 
wailed.  "I'm  just  beginning  to  remember  about  the  dance 
and  getting  hurt." 

Peggy  stood  a  moment  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Lafe's  got  a  whole  pocket  full  o'  money,"  she  returned 
glibly. 

"That's  nice,"  sighed  the  girl  in  relief. 

"Shut  up  now  an'  go  to  sleep !  Lafe's  got  enough  cash 
to  last  a  month." 

And  as  the  white  lids  drooped  over  the  violet  eyes,  Peg 
Grandoken's  guardian  angel  registered  another  lie  to  her 
credit  in  the  life-book  of  her  Heavenly  Father. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

WHAT  JINNIE  FOUND  ON  THE  HILL 

THE  days  rolled  on  and  on,  and  the  first  warm  impulses 
of  spring  brought  Jinnie,  pale  and  thin,  back  to  Lafe's 
side. 

She  was  growing  so  strong  that  days  when  the  weather 
permitted,  Peg  put  a  wrap  on  her,  telling  her  to  breathe 
some  color  into  her  cheeks. 

For  a  long  time  Jinnie  was  willing  to  remain  quietly  on 
the  hut  steps  where  she  could  see  the  cobbler  whacking 
away  on  the  torn  footwear.  She  knew  that  if  she  looked 
long  enough,  he  would  glance  up  and  smile  the  smile  which 
always  warmed  the  cockles  of  her  loving  heart. 

As  she  grew  better,  and  therefore  restless,  she  walked 
with  Happy  Pete  along  the  cinder  path  beside  the  tracks. 
Each  day  she  went  a  little  further  than  the  day  before, 
the  spirit  of  adventure  beginning  to  live  again  within  her. 
The  confines  of  her  narrow  world  were  no  longer  kept  taut 
by  the  necessity  of  selling  wood,  and  to-day  it  seemed  to 
broaden  to  the  far-away  hill  from  whence  the  numberless 
fingers  of  shadow  and  sunshine  beckoned  to  the  sentimental 
girl. 

She  wandered  through  Paradise  Road  with  the  little  dog 
as  a  companion,  and  finding  her  way  to  the  board  walk, 
strolled  slowly  along. 

Wandering  up  above  the  city,  she  discovered  a  lonely 
spot  snuggled  in  the  hills,  and  gathering  Happy  Pete 

98 


WHAT  JTNNIE  FOUND  99 

into  her  arms,  she  lay  down.  Over  her  head  countless  birds 
sang  in  the  sunshine,  and  just  below,  in  the  hollow,  were 
squirrels,  chattering  out  their  happy  existence.  Dreamily, 
through  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  Jinnie  watched  the  white 
clouds  float  across  the  sky  like  flocks  of  sheep,  and  soon 
the  peace  of  the  surrounding  world  lulled  her  to  rest. 

When  Happy  Pete  touched  her  with  his  slender  tongue, 
Jinnie  sat  up,  staring  sleepily  around.  At  a  sound,  she 
turned  her  head  and  caught  sight  of  a  little  boy,  whose 
tangled  hair  lay  in  yellow  curls  on  his  head. 

The  sight  of  tears  and  boyish  distress  made  Jinnie  start 
quickly  toward  him,  but  he  seemed  so  timid  and  afraid 
she  did  not  speak. 

Suddenly,  two  slight,  twig-scratched  arms  fluttered  to- 
ward her,  and  still  without  a  word  Jinnie  took  the  tremb- 
ling hands  into  hers.  Happy  Pete  crawled  cautiously  to 
the  girl's  side ;  then,  realizing  something  unusual,  he  threw 
up  his  black-tipped  nose  and  whined.  At  the  faint  howl, 
the  boy's  hands  quivered  violently  in  Jinnie's.  He  caught 
his  breath  painfully. 

"Oh,  who're  you?    Are  you  a  boy  or  a  girl?" 

His  eyes  were  touched  with  an  indefinable  expression. 
Jinnie  flushed  as  she  scanned  for  a  moment  her  calico  skirt 
and  overhanging  blouse.  Then  with  a  tragic  expression 
she  released  her  hands,  and  ran  her  fingers  through  her 
hair.  With  such  long  curls  did  she  look  like  a  boy  ? 

"I'm  a  girl,"  she  said.     "Can't  you  see  I'm  a  girl?" 

"I'm  blind,"  said  the  boy,  "so — so  I  had  to  ask  you." 

Jinnie  leaned  forward  and  scrutinized  him  intently. 

"You  mean,"  she  demanded  brokenly,  "that  you  can't 
see  me,  nor  Happy  Pete,  nor  the  trees,  nor  the  birds,  nor 
the  squirrels,  skipping  around?" 

The  boy  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  but  brightened  almost 
instantly. 


3100  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"No,  I  can't  see  those  things,  but  I've  got  lots  of  stars 
inside  my  head.  They're  as  bright  as  anything,  only 
sometimes  my  tears  put  'em  out." 

Then,  as  if  he  feared  he  would  lose  his  new  friend,  he 
felt  for  her  hand  once  more. 

Jinnie  returned  the  clinging  pressure.  For  the  second 
time  in  her  life  her  heart  beat  with  that  strange  emotion 
— the  protective  instinct  she  had  felt  for  her  father.  She 
knew  at  that  moment  she  loved  this  little  lad,  with  his 
wide-staring,  unseeing  eyes. 

"I'm  lost,"  said  the  boy,  sighing  deeply,  "and  I  cried 
ever  so  long,  but  nobody  would  come,  and  my  stars  all 
went  out." 

"Tell  me  about  your  stars,"  she  said  eaegrly.  "Are  they 
sky  stars?" 

"I  dunno  what  sky  stars  are.  My  stars  shine  in  my 
head  lovely  and  I  get  warm.  I'm  cold  all  over  and  my 
heart  hurts  when  they  go  out." 

"Oh !"  murmured  Jinnie.    "I  wish  they'd  always  shine." 

"So  do  I."  Then  lifting  an  eager,  sparkling  face,  he 
continued,  "They're  shinin'  now,  'cause  I  found  you." 

"Where're  your  folks?"  asked  Jinnie,  swallowing  hard. 

"I  dunno.  I  lost  'em  a  long  time  ago,  and  went  to  live 
with  Mag.  She  licked  me  every  day,  so — I  just  runned 
away — I've  been  here  a  awful  long  time." 

Jinnie  considered  a  moment  before  explaining  an  idea 
that  had  slipped  into  her  mind  as  if  it  belonged  there. 
She  would  take  him  home  with  her. 

"You're  going  to  Lafe's  house,"  she  announced  pres- 
ently. "Happy  Pete  and  me  and  Peg  live  at  Lafe  Gran- 
doken's  home.  Peggy  makes  bully  soup." 

"And  I'm  so  hungry,"  sighed  the  boy.  "Where's  the 
dog  I  heard  barking?" 

He  withdrew  his  hands,  moving  them  outward,  searching 


WHAT  JINNIE  FOUND  101 

for  something.  The  girl  tried  to  push  Pete  forward,  but 
the  dog  only  snuggled  closer  to  her. 

"Petey,  dear,  I'm  ashamed  of  you !"  she  chided  lovingly* 
"Can't  you  see  the  little  fellow's  trying  to  feel  you?" 

Then  Happy  Pete,  as  if  he  also  were  ashamed,  came 
within  reach  of  the  wavering  hands,  and  crouched  low,  ta 
be  looked  over  with  ten  slender  finger  tips. 

"He's  awful  beautiful !"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "His  hair's 
softer'n  silk,  and  his  body's  as  warm  as  warm  can  be." 

Jinnie  contemplated  Happy  Pete's  points  of  beauty. 
Never  before  had  she  thought  him  anything  more  than  a. 
homely,  lovable  dog,  with  squat  little  legs,  and  a  pointed 
nose.  In  lightninglike  comparison  she  brought  to  her  mind 
the  things  she  always  considered  beautiful — the  spring  vio- 
lets, the  summer  roses,  that  belt  of  wonderful  color  skirt- 
ing the  afternoon  horizon,  and  all  the  wonders  of  nature 
of  which  her  romantic  world  consisted.  The  contrast  be- 
tween these  and  the  shaking  black  dog,  with  his  smudge  of 
tangled  hair  hanging  over  his  eyes,  shocked  Jinnie's  artis- 
tic sense. 

"If if  you  say  he's  beautiful,  then  he  is,"  she  stam- 
mered almost  inaudibly. 

"Of  course  he  is!    What's  your  name?" 

"Jinnie.     Jinnie  Grandoken  .    .    .  What's  yours?" 

"Blind  Bobbie,  or  sometimes  just  Bobbie." 

"Well,  I'll  call  you  Bobbie,  if  you  want  me  to.  ...  I 
like  you  awful  well.  I  feel  it  right  in  here." 

She  pressed  the  boy's  fingers  to  her  side. 

"Oh,  that's  your  heart!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  got  one 
too!  Feel  it  jump!" 

Jinnie's  fingers  pressed  the  spot  indicated  by  the  little 
boy. 

"My  goodness,"  she  exclaimed,  "it'll  jump  out  of  your 
mouth,  won't  it?" 


102  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Nope !    It  always  beats  like  that !" 

"Where's  your  mother?"  asked  Jinnie  after  a  space. 

"I  suppose  she's  dead,  or  Mag  wouldn't  a  had  me.  I 
don't  know  very  much,  but  I  'member  how  my  mother's 
hands  feel.  They  were  soft  and  warm.  She  used  to  come 
to  see  me  at  the  woman's  house  who  died — the  one  who  give 
me  to  Mag." 

"She  must  have  been  a  lovely  mother,"  commented 
Jinnie. 

"She  were!  Mag  tried  to  find  her  'cause  she  said  she 
was  rich,  and  when  she  couldn't,  she  beat  me.  I  thought 
mebbe  I'd  find  mother  out  in  the  street.  That's  why  I 
run  away." 

Jinnie  thought  of  her  own  dead  father,  and  the  child's 
halting  tale  brought  back  that  one  night  of  agony  when 
Thomas  Singleton  died,  alone  and  unloved,  save  for  her- 
self. She  wanted  to  cry,  but  instead  she  murmured, 
"Happy  in  Spite,"  as  Lafe  had  bidden  her,  and  the  melt- 
ing mood  vanished.  The  cobbler  and  his  club  were  always 
wonderfully  helpful  to  Jinnie. 

"My  mother  told  me  onct,"  Bobbie  went  on,  "she  didn't 
have  nothin*  to  live  for.  I  was  blind,  you  see,  and  wasn't 
any  good — was  I?" 

The  question,  pathetically  put,  prompted  Virginia  to 
fling  back  a  ready  answer. 

"You're  good  'nough  for  me  and  Happy  Pete,"  she  as- 
serted, "and  Lafe'll  let  you  be  his  little  boy  too." 

The  blind  child  gasped,  and  the  girl  continued  assur- 
ingly,  "Peg'll  love  you,  too.  She  couldn't  help  it." 

"Peg?"  queried  Bobbie. 

"Oh,  she's  Lafe's  wife.  Happy  Pete  and  me  stay  in 
her  house." 

The  blind  eyes  flashed  with  sudden  hope. 

"Mebbe  she'll  love  me  a  little !    Will  she?" 


WHAT   JINNIE    FOUND  103 

"I  hope  so.  Anyway,  Lafe  will.  He  loves  everybody, 
even  dogs.  He'll  love  you ;  sure  he  will !" 

The  boy  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"Nobody  but  mothers  are  nice  to  blind  kids.  Well — 
well —  'cept  you.  I'd  like  to  go  to  Lafe's  house,  though, 
but  mebbe  the  woman  wouldn't  want  me." 

Jinnie  had  her  own  ideas  about  this,  but  because  the 
child's  tears  fell  hot  upon  her  hands,  the  mother  within 
her  grew  to  greater  proportions.  Three  times  she  re- 
peated softly,  "Happy  in  Spite." 

"Happy  in  Spite,"  she  whispered  again.  Then  she  sat 
up  with  a  brilliant  smile. 

"Of  course  I'm  going  to  take  you  to  Lafe's.  Here  at 
Lafe's  my  heart's  awful  busy  loving  everybody.  Now  I've 
got  you  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you,  'cause  I  love  you 
just  like  the  rest.  Stand  up  and  let  me  wipe  your  nose." 

"Let  me  see  how  you  look,  first,"  faltered  the  boy. 
"Where's  your  face?  ...  I  want  to  touch  it!" 

His  little  hands  reached  and  found  Jinnie's  shoulders. 
Then  slowly  the  fingers  moved  upwards,  pressing  here  and 
there  upon  the  girl's  skin,  as  they  traveled  in  rhythmic 
motion  over  her  cheeks. 

"Your  hair's  awful  curly  and  long,"  said  he.  "What 
color  is  it?" 

"Color?  Well,  it's  black  with  purple  running  through 
it,  I  guess.  People  say  so  anyway !" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  black  is.  And  your  eyes're  blue, 
ain't  they?" 

"Yes,  blue,"  assented  Jinnie.  "I  see  'em  when  I  slick 
my  hair  in  the  kitchen  glass.  .  .  I  don't  think  they're 
much  like  yours." 

Bobbie  paid  no  heed  to  the  allusion  to  himself. 

"Your  forehead's  smooth,  too,"  he  mused.  "Your  eyes 
are  big,  and  the  lashes  round  'em  're  long.  You're  much 


104  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

prettier'n  your  dog,  but  then  girls  're  always  pretty." 

A  flush  of  pleased  vanity  reddened  Jinnie's  skin  to  the 
tips  of  her  ears,  and  she  scrambled  to  her  feet.  Then  she 
paused,  a  solemn  expression  shadowing  her  eyes. 

"Bobbie,"  she  spoke  soberly,  "now  I  found  you,  you 
belong  to  me,  don't  you?" 

Bobbie  thrust  forth  his  hands. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  breathed. 

"Then  from  now  on,  from  this  minute,  I'm  going  to  work 
for  you." 

Jinnie's  thoughts  were  on  the  shortwood  strap,  but  she 
didn't  mention  it.  Oh,  how  she  would  work  for  money  to 
give  Peg  with  which  to  buy  food !  How  happy  she  would 
be  in  the  absolute  ownership  of  the  boy  she  had  discovered 
in  the  hills !  Tenderly  she  drew  him  to  her.  He  seemed 
so  pitifully  helpless. 

"How  old  're  you?"  she  demanded. 

"Nine  years  old." 

"You  don't  look  over  five,"  said  Jinnie,  surprised. 

"That's  because  I'm  always  sick,"  explained  the  boy. 

Jinnie  threw  up  her  head. 

"Well,  a  girl  sixteen  ought  to  be  able  to  help  an  awful 
little  boy,  oughtn't  she  ?  .  .  .  Here,  I'll  put  my  arm  round 
you,  right  like  this." 

But  the  boy  made  a  backward  step,  so  that  Jinnie, 
thinking  he  was  about  to  fall,  caught  him  sharply  by  the 
arm. 

"I'll  walk  if  you'll  lead  me,"  Bobbie  explained  proudly. 

Thus  rebuffed,  Jinnie  turned  the  blind  face  toward  the 
cast,  and  together  they  made  their  way  slowly  to  the  plank 
walk. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

"HE'S  COME  TO  LIVE  WITH  us,  PEGGY" 

THEY  trailed  along  in  silence,  the  girl  watching  the 
birds  as  flock  after  flock  disappeared  in  the  north  woods. 
Now  and  then,  when  Jinnie  looked  at  the  boy,  she  felt  the 
pride  which  comes  only  with  possession.  She  was  going 
to  work  for  him,  to  intercede  with  Peg,  to  allow  the 
foundling  to  join  that  precious  home  circle  where  the 
cobbler  and  his  wife  reigned  supreme. 

As  they  reached  the  plank  walk,  the  boy  lagged  back. 

"I'm  tired,  girl,"  he  panted.  "I've  walked  till  I'm  just 
near  dead." 

He  cried  quietly  as  Jinnie  led  him  into  the  shadow  of 
a  tree. 

"Sit  here  with  me,"  she  invited.  "Lay  your  head  on 
my  arm." 

And  this  time  he  snuggled  to  her  till  the  blind  eyes  and 
the  pursed  delicate  mouth  were  hidden  against  her  arm. 

"I  told  you,  Bobbie,"  Jinnie  resumed  presently,  "I'd 
let  you  be  Lafe's  little  boy,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes,  girl,"  replied  the  boy,  sleepily. 

"Now  wasn't  that  awful  good  of  me?" 

"Awful  good,"  was  the  dreamy  answer.  "My  stars're 
glory  bright  now." 

"And  most  likely  Lafe'll  help  you  see  with  your  eyes, 
just  like  Happy  Pete  and  me!"  Jinnie  went  on  eagerly. 
"All  the  trees  and  hundreds  of  birds,  some  of  'em  yellow 

105 


106  ROSE   O'   PARADISE 

and  some  of  'em  red,  an*  some  of  'em  so  little  and  cunning 
they  could  jump  through  the  knothole  in  Peg's  kitchen. 
.  .  .  Don't  you  wish  to  see  all  that?" 

The  small  face  brightened  and  the  unseeing  eyes 
flashed  upward. 

"I'd  find  my  mother,  then,"  breathed  Bobbie. 

"And  you'd  see  a  big  high  tree,  with  a  robin  making 
his  nest  in  it !  .  .  .  Have  y'  ever  seen  that  ?" 

Jinnie  was  becoming  almost  aggressive,  for,  woman- 
like, with  a  point  to  make,  each  argument  was  driven 
home  with  more  power. 

"No,"  Bobbie  admitted,  and  his  voice  held  a  certain 
tragic  little  note. 

"And  you've  never  seen  the  red  running  along  the  edge 
of  the  sky,  just  when  the  sun's  going  down?" 

Again  his  answer  was  a  simple  negative. 

"And  hasn't  anybody  tried  to  show  you  a  cow  and  her 
calf  in  the  country,  nipping  the  grass  all  day,  in  the  yel- 
low sunshine?" 

Jinnie  was  waxing  eloquent,  and  her  words  held  high- 
sounding  hope.  The  interest  in  the  child's  face  invited 
her  to  go  on. 

"Now  I've  said  I'd  let  my  folks  be  yours,  and  didn't 
I  find  you,  and  have  you  got  any  one  else?  If  you  don't 
let  me  help  you  to  Lafe's,  how  you  going  to  see  any  of 
'em?"  She  paused  before  delivering  her  best  point,  which 
was  addressed  quite  indifferently  to  the  sky.  "And  just 
think  of  that  hot  soup  !" 

This  was  enough.  Bobbie  struggled  up,  flushed  and 
agitated. 

"Put  your  arm  around  me,  girl,"  which  invitation 
Jinnie  quickly  accepted. 

Then  they  two,  so  unlike,  went  slowly  down  the  walk 
toward  the  tracks  to  Lafe  Grandoken's  home. 


"HE'S  COME  TO  LIVE  WITH  US"    107 

Jinnie's  heart  vied  with  a  trip-hammer  as  they  turned 
into  Paradise  Road.  She  did  not  fear  the  cobbler,  but  the 
thought  of  Peggy's  harsh  voice,  her  ruthless  catechizing, 
worried  her  not  a  little.  Nevertheless,  she  kept  her  arm 
about  the  boy,  steadily  drawing  him  on.  When  they 
came  to  the  side  door  of  the  house,  the  girl  turned  the 
handle  and  walked  in,  leading  her  weary  companion. 

Resolutely  she  passed  on  to  the  kitchen,  for  she  wanted 
the  disagreeable  part  over  first.  She  fumbled  in  hesitation 
with  the  knob  of  the  door,  and  Peg,  hearing  her,  opened 
it.  At  first,  the  woman  saw  only  Jinnie,  with  Happy 
Pete  by  her  side.  Then  her  gaze  fell  upon  the  other 
child,  whose  blind,  entreating  eyes  were  turned  upward  in 
supplication. 

"This  is  Bobbie,"  announced  Jinnie,  "and  he's  come  to 
live  with  us,  Peggy." 

Poor  Peggy  stared,  surprised  to  silence.  She  could 
find  no  words  to  fit  the  occasion. 

"He  hasn't  any  home !"  Jinnie  gasped  for  breath  in 
her  excitement.  "Mag,  a  woman  somewhere,  beat  him  and 
he  ran  away  and  I  found  'im.  So  he  belongs  to  us  now." 

She  was  gaining  assurance  every  moment.  She  hoped 
that  Peggy  was  silently  acquiescing,  for  the  woman  hadn't 
uttered  a  word;  she  was  merely  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  with  her  characteristically  blank  expression. 

"I'm  going  to  give  him  half  of  Lafe,  too,"  confided 
Jinnie,  nodding  her  head  toward  the  waiting  child. 

Then  Peggy  burst  forth  in  righteous  indignation.  She 
demanded  to  know  how  another  mouth  was  to  be  fed,  and 
clothes  washed  and  mended;  where  the  brat  was  to  sleep, 
and  what  good  he  was  anyway. 

"Do  you  think,  kid,"  she  stormed  at  Jinnie,  "you're  so 
good  yourself  we're  wantin'  to  take  another  one  worser 
pff'n  you  are?  Don't  believe  it!  He  can't  stay  here!" 


108  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

Jinnie  held  her  ground  bravely. 

"Oh,  I'll  start  right  out  and  sell  wood  all  day  long,  if 
you'll  let  him  stay,  Peg." 

A  tousled  lock  of  yellow  hair  hung  over  Bobbie's  eyes. 

"Oh,  Peggy,  dear,  Mrs.  Good  Peggy,  let  me  stay!"  he 
moaned,  swaying.  "I'm  so  tired,  s'awful  tired.  I  can't 
find  my  mother,  nor  no  place,  and  my  stars're  all  out !" 

Sobbing  plaintively,  he  sank  to  the  floor,  and  there  the 
childish  heart  laid  bare  its  misery.  Then  Jinnie,  too, 
became  quite  limp,  and  forgetting  all  about  "Happy  in 
Spite,"  she  knelt  alongside  of  her  newly  acquired  friend, 
and  the  two  despairing  young  voices  rose  to  the  woman 
standing  over  them.  Jinnie  thrust  her  arms  around  the 
little  boy. 

"Don't  cry,  my  Bobbie,"  she  sobbed.  "I'll  go  back  to 
the  hills  with  you,  because  you  need  me.  We'll  live  with 
the  birds  and  squirrels,  and  I'll  sell  wood  so  we  c'n  eat." 

When  she  raised  her  reproachful  eyes  to  Peg,  and  fin- 
ished with  a  swipe  at  her  offending  nose  with  her  sleeve, 
she  had  never  looked  more  beautiful,  and  Peggy  glanced 
away,  fearing  she  might  weaken. 

"Tell  Lafe  I  love  him,  and  I  love  you,  too,  Peggy.  Ill 
come  every  day  and  see  you  both,  and  bring  you  some 
money." 

If  she  had  been  ten  years  older  or  had  spent  months 
framing  a  speech  to  fit  the  need  of  this  occasion,  Jinnie 
could  not  have  been  more  effective,  for  Peg's  rage  entirely 
ebbed  at  these  words. 

"Get  up,  you  brats'"  she  ordered  grimly.  "An*  you 
listen  to  me,  Jinnie  Grandoken.  Your  Bobbie  c'n  stay, 
but  if  you  ever,  so  long  as  you  live,  bring  another  maimed, 
lame  or  blind  creature  to  this  house,  I'll  kick  it  out  in 
the  street.  Now  both  of  you  climb  up  to  that  table  an* 
eat  some  hot  soup." 


"HE'S  COME  TO  LIVE  WITH  US"     109 

Jinnie  drew  a  long  breath  of  happiness.  She  had  cried 
a  little,  she  was  sorry  for  that.  She  had  broken  her 
resolve  always  to  smile — to  be  "Happy  in  Spite." 

"I'll  never  bring  any  one  else  in,  Peg,"  she  averred 
gratefully. 

Then  she  remembered  how  sweeping  was  her  promise 
and  changed  it  a  trifle. 

"Of  course  if  a  kid  was  awful  sick  in  the  street  and 
didn't  have  a  home,  I'd  have  to  fetch  it  in,  wouldn't  I?" 

Peggy  flounced  over  to  the  table,  speechless,  followed 
by  the  two  children. 


CHAPTER   XV 

"WHO    SATS    THE    KID    CAN*T    STAY?" 

TWENTY  minutes  later  Mrs.  Grandoken  entered  the 
shop  and  sat  down  opposite  her  husband. 

"Lafe,"  she  began,  clearing  her  throat. 

The  cobbler  questioned  her  with  a  glance. 

"That  girl'll  be  the  death  of  this  hull  shanty,"  she 
announced  huskily.  "I  hate  'er  more'n  anything  in  the 
world." 

Lafe  placed  a  half-mended  shoe  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"What's  ailin'  'er  now,  Peggy?" 

"Oh,  she  ain't  sick,"  interrupted  Peg,  with  curling  lip. 
"She  never  looked  better'n  she  does  this  minute,  settin* 
in  there  huddlin'  that  pup,  but  she's  brought  home  an- 
other kid,  as  bad  off  as  a  kid  can  be." 

"A  what?  What'd  you  say,  Peg?  You  don't  mean  a 
youngster  ?" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  bobbed  her  head,  her  face  stoically 
expressionless.  "An'  bad  off,"  she  repeated  querulously. 
"The  young  'un's  blind." 

Before  Lafe's  mental  vision  rose  Jinnie's  lovely  face, 
her  parted  lips  and  self-assured  smile. 

"But  where'd  she  get  it?     It  must  belong  to  some  'un." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  shook  her  head. 

"I  dunno.  It's  a  boy.  He  was  with  a  woman — a  bad 
'un,  I  gather.  She  beat  'im  until  the  little  feller  ran  away 
to  find  his  own  folks,  he  says — and — Jinnie  brought  'im 
home  here.  She  says  she's  goin'  to  keep  'im." 

110 


"WHO  SAYS  THE  KID  CAN'T  STAY?"  Ill 

The  speaker  drew  her  brown  skin  into  a  network  of 
wrinkles. 

"Where'd  she  find  'im?"  Lafe  burst  forth.  "Of  course 
he  can't  stay " 

Mrs.  Grandoken  checked  the  cobbler's  words  with  a 
rough  gesture. 

"Hush  a  minute!  She  got  'im  over  near  the  plank 
walk  on  the  hill — he  was  cryin'  for  'is  ma." 

Lafe  was  plainly  agitated.  He  felt  a  spasmodic  clutch 
at  his  heart  when  he  imagined  the  sorrow  of  a  homeless, 
blind  child,  but  thinking  of  Peg's  struggle  to  make  a  little 
go  a  long  way,  he  dashed  his  sympathy  resolutely  aside. 

"Of  course  he  can't  stay — he  can't!"  he  murmured. 
"It  ain't  possible  for  you  to  keep  'im  here." 

In  his  excitement  Lafe  bent  forward  and  closed  his 
hands  over  Peg's  massive  shoulder  bones.  Peggy  coughed 
hoarsely  and  looked  away. 

"Who  says  the  kid  can't  stay?"  she  muttered  roughly. 
"Who  said  he  can't?" 

The  words  jumped  off  the  woman's  tongue  in  sullen  de- 
fiance. 

"But  you  got  too  much  to  do  now,  Peg.  We've  made 
you  a  lot  of  trouble,  woman  dear,  an'  you  sure  don't  want 
to  take  another " 

Like  a  flash,  Peg's  features  changed.  She  squinted 
sidewise  as  if  a  strong  light  suddenly  hurt  her  sight. 

"Who  said  I  didn't?"  she  drawled.  "Some  husbands 
do  make  me  mad,  when  they're  tellin'  me  what  I  want,  an' 
what  I  don't  want.  I  hate  the  blind  brat  like  I  do  the 
girl,  but  he's  goin'  to  stay  just  the  same." 

A  deep  flush  dyed  Lafe's  gray  face.  The  intensity  of 
his  emotion  was  almost  a  pain.  Life  had  ever  vouchsafed 
Lafe  Grandoken  encouragement  when  the  dawn  was  dark- 
est. Now  Peg's  personal  insult  lined  his  clouds  of  fear 


112  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

with  silver,  and  they  sailed  away  in  rapid  succession  as 
quickly  as  they  had  come ;  he  saw  them  going  like  shadows 
under  advancing  sun  rays. 

"Peggy,"  he  said,  touching  her  gently,  "you've  the  big- 
gest heart  in  all  the  world,  and  you're  the  very  best 
woman ;  you  be,  sure !  If  you  let  the  poor  little  kid  stay, 
I'll  make  more  money,  if  God  gives  me  strength." 

Peggy  pushed  Lafe's  hand  from  her  arm. 

"I  'spose  if  you  do  happen  to  get  five  cents  more, 
you'll  puff  out  with  pride  till  you  most  bust.  .  .  .  Any- 
way, it  won't  take  much  more  to  buy  grub  for  a  kid 
with  an  appetite  like  a  bird.  .  .  .  Come  on !  I'll  wheel 
you  to  the  kitchen  so  you  can  have  a  look  at  'im." 

Jinnie  glanced  around  as  the  husband  and  wife  entered 
the  room.  She  pushed  Happy  Pete  from  her  lap  and 
got  up. 

"Lafe,"  she  exclaimed,  "this  is  Bobbie — he's  come  to 
live  with  us." 

She  drew  the  blind  boy  from  his  chair  and  went  forward. 

"Bobbie,"  she  explained,  "this  is  the  cobbler.  I  told 
you  about  him  in  the  park.  See  'im  with  your  fingers  once, 
and  you'll  know  he's  the  best  man  ever." 

The  small  boy  lifted  two  frail  arms,  his  lips  quivering 
in  fright  and  homesickness.  Some  feeling  created  by  God 
rose  insistent  within  Lafe.  It  was  a  response  from  the 
heart  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  who  had  always  gathered 
into  his  fold  the  bruised  ones  of  the  world.  Lafe  drew  the 
child  to  his  lap. 

"Poor  little  thing !"  he  murmured  sadly. 

With  curling  lips,  his  wife  stood  watching  the  pair. 

"You're  a  bigger  fool'n  I  thought  you  was,  Lafe  Gran- 
doken,"  she  said,  turning  away  sharply.  "I  wouldn't 
make  such  a  fuss  over  no  one  livin*.  That's  just  what  I 
wouldn't." 


"WHO  SAYS  THE  KID  CAN'T  STAY?"  113 

She  threw  the  last  remark  over  her  shoulder  as  if  it 
were  something  she  spurned  and  wanted  to  be  rid  of. 

Bobbie  slipped  from  Lafe's  arms  and  described  a  zigzag 
course  across  the  kitchen  floor  toward  the  place  where 
Mrs.  Grandoken  stood.  His  hands  fluttered  over  Peg's 
dress,  as  high  as  they  could  reach. 

"I  like  you  awful  well,  Mrs.  Peggy,"  he  told  her,  "and  I 
just  love  your  kisses,  too,  Mrs.  Peggy  dear.  They  made 
my  stars  shine  all  over  my  head." 

The  cobbler's  wife  started  guiltily,  casting  her  eyes  upon 
Lafe.  He  was  silent,  his  patient  face  expressing  melan- 
choly sweetness.  As  far  as  the  woman  could  determine, 
he  had  not  heard  the  boy's  words.  Relieved,  she  allowed 
her  eyes  to  rest  upon  Jinnie.  The  girl  was  looking  di- 
rectly at  her.  Then  Jinnie  slowly  dropped  one  white  lid 
over  a  bright,  gleeful  blue  eye  in  a  wicked  little  wink. 
This  was  more  than  Peggy  could  endure.  She  had  kissed 
the  little  boy  several  times  during  the  process  of  washing 
the  tear-stained  face  and  combing  the  tangled  hair,  but 
that  any  one  should  know  it!  Just  then,  Peggy  secretly 
said  to  herself,  "If  uther  one  of  them  kids  get  any  more 
kisses  from  me,  it'll  be  when  water  runs  uphill.  I  'spose 
now  I'll  never  hear  the  last  of  them  smacks." 

"Let  go  my  skirt !    Get  away,  kid,"  she  ordered  Bobbie. 

The  boy  dropped  his  hands  reluctantly.  He  had  hoped 
for  another  kiss. 

"Peggy,"  said  Lafe,  "can  I  hold  him?  He  seems  so 
sad." 

Mrs.  Grandoken,  consciously  grim,  placed  the  boy  in 
her  husband's  lap. 

"You  see,"  philosophized  Jinnie,  when  she  and  the  blind 
child  were  with  the  cobbler,  "if  a  blind  kid  hasn't  any 
place  to  live,  the  girl  who  finds  'im  has  to  bring  him  home ! 
Huh,  Lafe?" 


114  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Then  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Couldn't  Bobbie  join 
the  'Happy  in  Spite'?" 

"Sure  he  can,  lass ;  sure  he  can,"  assented  Lafe. 

Jinnie  whirled  back  to  the  little  boy. 

"Bobbie,  would  you  like  to  come  in  a  club  that'll  make 
you  happy  as  long's  you  live?" 

The  bright  blind  eyes  of  the  boy  flashed  from  Jinnie 
to  the  man,  and  he  got  to  his  feet  tremulously.  In  his 
little  mind,  out  of  which  daylight  was  shut,  Jinnie's  words 
presaged  great  joy.  The  girl  took  his  hand  and  led  him 
to  the  cobbler. 

"You'll  have  to  explain  the  club  to  'im,  Lafe,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  'splain  it  to  me,  Lafe  dearie,"  purred  Bobbie. 

"It's  just  a  club,"  began  Lafe,  "only  good  to  keep  a 
body  happy.  Now,  me — well,  I'm  happy  in  spite  a  havin' 
no  legs ;  Jinnie  there,  she's  happy  in  spite  a-havin'  no 
folks.  Her  and  me's  happy  in  spite  a  everything." 

Bobbie  stood  alongside  Lafe's  bench,  one  busy  set  of 
fingers  picking  rhythmically  at  the  cobbler's  coat,  the 
other  having  sought  and  found  his  hand. 

"I  want  to  be  in  the  club,  cobbler,"  he  whispered. 

Mr.  Grandoken  stooped  and  kissed  the  quivering  face. 

"An*  you'll  be  happy  in  spite  a  havin'  no  eyes?"  he 
questioned. 

The  little  boy,  pressing  his  cheek  against  the  man's 
arm,  cooed  in  delight. 

"And  happy  in  spite  of  not  finding  your  mother  right 
yet?"  interjected  Jinnie. 

"Yes,  yes,  'cause  I  am  happy.  I  got  my  beautiful 
Peggy,  ain't  I?  And  don't  she  make  me  a  hull  lot  of  fine 
soup,  and  ain't  I  got  Lafe,  Happy  Pete — 

"You  got  me,  too,  Bobbie,"  Jinnie  reminded  him  gently. 

Bobbie  acquiesced  by  a  quick  bend  of  his  head,  and  Lafe 
grasped  his  hand. 


"WHO  SAYS  THE  KID  CAN'T  STAY?"  115 

"Now  you're  a  member  of  tHe  'Happy  in  Spite',  Bob," 
said  he  smiling.  "This  club  is  what  I  call  a  growin'  affair. 
Four  members " 

"Everybody's  in,"  burst  forth  Jinnie. 

"Except  Peggy,"  sighed  Lafe.  "Some  day  something'll 
bring  her  in,  too." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

JINNEE'S  EAR  GETS  A  TWEAK 

BOBBIE  had  been  at  the  Grandoken  home  scarcely  a 
week  before  Jinnie  again  got  into  difficulty.  One  morn- 
ing, wide-awake,  beside  the  blind  boy,  she  happened  to 
glance  toward  the  door.  There  stood  Peg,  her  face  dis- 
torted by  rage,  staring  at  her  with  terrible  eyes.  Jinnie 
sat  up  in  a  twinkling. 

"What  is  it,  Peggy,  dear?"  she  faltered.  "What  have 
I  done  now?" 

Without  reply,  Peggy  marched  to  the  bed  and  took  the 
girl  by  the  ear.  In  this  way  she  pulled  her  to  the  floor, 
walking  her  ahead  of  her  to  the  kitchen. 

"I  don't  know  what  I've  done,  Peggy,"  repeated  Jinnie, 
meekly. 

"I'll  show  you.  You'll  know,  all  right,  miss!  Now  if 
you've  eyes,  squint  down  there !" 

She  was  pointing  to  the  floor,  and  as  the  room  was 
rather  dark,  Jinnie  at  first  could  discern  nothing.  Then 
as  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  shadows,  she 
saw 

"Oh,  what  is  it,  Peggy?    Oh,  my!    Oh,  my!" 

Peggy  gave  her  a  rough  little  shake. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Jinnie  Grandoken,  without  any 
more  ado.  Well,  they're  cats,  just  plain  everyday  cats ! 
Another  batch  of  Miss  Milly  Ann's  kits,  if  y'  want  to 
know.  They  can't  stay  in  this  house,  miss,  an*  when  I 
say  a  thing,  I  mean  it !  My  word's  law  in  this  shanty !" 

116 


JINNIE'S  EAR  GETS  A  TWEAK      117 

She  was  still  holding  the  girl's  ear,  and  suddenly  gave 
it  another  tweak.  Jinnie  pulled  this  tender  member  from 
Peggy's  fingers  with  a  delighted  little  chuckle. 

"Peggy  darling,  aren't  they  sweet?     Oh,  Peggy " 

"Ain't  they  sweet?"  mimicked  Peggy.  "They're  just 
sweet  'nough  to  get  chucked  out.  Now,  you  get  dressed, 
an'  take  'em  somewhere.  D'  you  hear?" 

Jinnie  wheeled  about  for  another  tug  of  war.  It  was 
dreadful  how  she  had  to  fight  with  Peggy  to  get  her  own 
way  about  things  like  this.  First  with  Happy  Pete,  then 
with  Bobbie,  and  now — to-day — with  five  small  kittens, 
not  one  of  them  larger  than  the  blind  child's  hand.  She 
looked  into  Mrs.  Grandoken's  face,  which  was  still  grim, 
but  Jinnie  decided  not  quite  so  grim  as  when  the  woman 
appeared  at  her  bedroom  door. 

"I  suppose  you'll  go  in  an'  honey  round  Lafe  in  a 
minute,  thinkin'  he'll  help  you  keep  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Gran- 
doken.  "But  this  time  it  won't  do  no  good." 

"Peggy !"  blurted  Jinnie. 

"Shut  your  mouth!  An'  don't  be  Peggyin'  me,  or  I'll 
swat  you,"  vowed  Peg. 

The  woman  glared  witheringly  into  a  pair  of  beseeching 
blue  eyes. 

"Get  into  your  clothes,  kid,"  she  ordered  immediately, 
"then  you " 

"Then  I'll  come  back,  dear,"  gurgled  Jinnie,  "and  do 
just  what  you  want  me  to."  Then  with  subtle  modifica- 
tion, she  continued,  "I  mean,  Peg,  I'll  do  just  what  you 
want  me  to  after  I've  talked  about  it  a  bit  .  .  .  Oh,  please, 
let  me  give  'em  one  little  kiss  apiece." 

Peggy  flounced  to  the  stove. 

"Be  a  fool  an'  kiss  'em  if  you  want  to .   .   .1  hate  'em." 

In  the  coarse  nightdress  Peggy  had  made  for  her,  Jinnie 
sat  down  beside  Milly  Ann.  The  yellow  mother  purred  in 


118  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

delight.  She'd  brought  them  five  new  babies,  and  no  idea 
entered  her  mother  heart  that  she  would  have  to  part 
with  even  one.  • 

Out  came  the  kittens  into  the  girl's  lap,  and  one  by  one 
they  were  tenderly  lifted  to  be  kissed.  Both  Peggy  and 
the  kisser  were  silent  while  this  loving  operation  was  in 
process.  Then  Jinnie,  still  sitting,  looked  from  Milly  Ann 
to  Peggy. 

"I  guess  she's  awful  fond  of  her  children,  don't  you, 

Peg?" 

Peggy  didn't  answer. 

"You  see  it's  like  this,  Peg 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  Peggy  me?" 

"Then  it's  like  this,  darling,"  drawled  Jinnie,  trying  to 
be  obedient. 

"An'  you  needn't  darlin'  me  nuther,"  snapped  Peggy. 

Jinnie  thought  a  minute. 

"Then  it's  like  this,  honey  bunch,"  she  smiled  again. 

Peg  whirled  around  on  her. 

"Say,  you  kid " 

"Wait,  dearie!"  implored  Jinnie.  "Don't  you  know 
mother  cats  always  love  their  kitties  just  like  live  mothers 
do  their  babies?" 

Peggy  rattled  the  stove  lids  outrageously.  Hearing 
these  words,  she  stopped  abruptly.  Who  knows  where  her 
thoughts  flew?  Jinnie  didn't,  for  sure,  but  she  thought, 
by  the  sudden  change  of  Mrs.  Grandoken's  expression, 
she  could  guess. 

The  woman  looked  from  Milly  Ann  to  the  wriggling 
kittens  in  Jinnie's  lap,  then  she  stooped  down  and  again 
brought  to  view  Jinnie's  little  ear  tucked  away  under  the 
black  curls. 

"Get  up  out  o'  here  an'  dress ;  will  you  ?  I've  said  them 
cats've  got  to  go,  and  go  they  will !" 


JINNIE'S  EAR  GETS  A  TWEAK      119 

Jinnie  returned  the  kittens  to  their  mother,  and  when 
she  got  back  to  her  room,  Bobbie  was  sitting  up  in  bed 
rubbing  his  eyes. 

"I  couldn't  find  you,  girl,"  he  whimpered.  "I  felt  the 
bed  over  and  you  was  gone." 

Jinnie  bent  over  him. 

"Peg  took  me  out  in  the  kitchen,  dear  .  .  .  What  do 
you  think,  Bobbie?" 

Bobbie  began  to  tremble. 

"I  got  to  go  away  from  here  .   .   .  eh?" 

"Mercy,  no!"  laughed  Jinnie.  "Milly  Ann's  got  a  lot 
of  new  babies." 

Bobbie  gave  a  delighted  squeal. 

"Now  I'll  have  something  else  to  love,  won't  I?"  he 
gurgled. 

Jinnie  hoped  so !  But  she  hadn't  yet  received  Peg's 
consent  to  keep  the  family,  so  when  the  little  boy  was 
dressed  and  she  had  combed  her  hair  and  dressed  herself, 
they  went  into  the  shop,  where  the  cobbler  met  them  with 
a  smile. 

"Peg's  mad,"  Jinnie  observed  with  a  comprehensive 
glance  at  Mr.  Grandoken. 

"Quite  so,"  replied  Lafe,  grinning  over  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe.  "She  had  frost  on  her  face  a  inch  thick  when 
she  discovered  them  cats.  I  thought  she'd  hop  right  out 
of  the  window." 

"She  says  I  must  throw  'em  away,"  ventured  Jinnie. 

"Cluck !  Cluck !"  struck  Lafe's  tongue  against  the  roof 
of  his  mouth,  and  he  smiled.  Jinnie  loved  that  cluck.  It 
put  her  in  mind  of  the  Mottville  mother  hens  scratching 
for  their  chickens. 

"Hain't  she  ever  said  anything  like  that  to  you  before, 
lass?"  the  cobbler  suggested  presently. 

"She  said  it  about  me,"  piped  in  Bobbie. 


120  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"An*  about  Happy  Pete,  too,"  added  Lafe. 

"I  bet  I  keep  'em,"  giggled  Jinnie. 

"I'll  bet  with  you,  kid,"  said  the  cobbler  gravely. 

"I  want  to  see  'em!"  Bobbie  clamored  with  a  squeak. 

But  he'd  no  more  than  made  the  statement  before  the 
door  burst  violently  open  and  Peg  stood  before  them. 
Her  apron  was  gathered  together  in  front,  held  by  one 
gripping  hand ;  something  moved  against  her  knees  as  if  it 
were  alive.  In  the  other  hand  was  Milly  Ann,  carried  by 
the  nape  of  her  neck,  hanging  straight  down  at  the  wo- 
man's side,  her  long  yellow  tail  dragging  on  the  floor. 
The  woman  looked  like  an  avenging  angel. 

"I've  come  to  tell  you  folks  something,"  she  imparted 
in  a  very  loud  voice.  "Here's  this  blasted  ragtail,  that's 
went  an'  had  this  batch  of  five  cats.  Now  I'm  goin'  to 
warn  y'  all " 

Bobbie  interrupted  her  with  a  little  yelp. 

"Let  me  love  one,  Peggy,  dear,"  he  begged. 

"I'm  goin'  to  warn  you  folks,"  went  on  Peg,  without 
heeding  the  child's  interjection,  "that — if — you  don't  want 
their  necks  wrung,  you'd  better  keep  'em  out  of  my  way." 

Saying  this,  she  dropped  the  mother  cat  with  a  soft 
thud,  and  without  looking  up,  dumped  the  kittens  on  top 
of  her,  and  stalked  out  of  the  room. 

When  Jinnie  appeared  five  minutes  later  in  the  kitchen 
with  a  small  kitten  in  her  hand,  Peg  was  stirring  the  mush 
for  breakfast. 

"You  hate  the  kitties,  eh,  Peg?"  asked  Jinnie. 

The  two  tense  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  Mrs.  Grando- 
ken's  mouth  didn't  relax  by  so  much  as  a  hair's  line. 

"Hate  'em!"  she  snapped,  "I  should  say  I  do!  I  hate 
every  one  of  them  cats,  and  I  hate  you,  too!  An'  if  y' 
don't  like  it,  y'  can  lump  it.  If  the  lumps  is  too  big, 
smash  'em." 


JINNIE'S  EAR  GETS  A  TWEAK      121 

"I  know  you  hate  us,  darling,"  Jinnie  admitted,  "but, 
Peg,  I  want  to  tell  you  this :  it's  ever  so  much  easier  to 
love  folks  than  to  hate  'em,  and  as  long  as  the  kitties're 
going  to  stay,  I  thought  mebbe  if  you  kissed  'em  once — " 
Then  she  extended  the  kitten.  "I  brought  you  one  to  try 
on." 

"Well,  Lord-a-massy,  the  girl's  crazy!"  expostulated 
Peg.  "Keep  the  cats  if  you're  bound  to,  you  kid,  but  get 
out  of  this  kitchen  or  I'll  kiss  you  both  with  the  broom." 

Jinnie  disappeared,  and  Peggy  heard  a  gleeful  laugh 
as  the  girl  scurried  back  to  the  shop. 


JINNIE  DISCOVERS  HER  KING  S  THRONE 

Two  years  and  almost  half  of  another  had  passed  since 
Jinnie  first  came  to  live  with  Lafe  and  Peggy  Grsndoken. 
These  two  years  had  meant  more  to  her  than  all  the  other 
fifteen  in  her  life.  Lafe,  in  his  kindly,  fatherly  way,  daily 
impressed  upon  her  the  need  of  her  studying  and  no  day 
passed  without  planting  some  knowledge  in  the  eager 
young  mind. 

Her  mornings  were  spent  gathering  shortwood,  her  af- 
ternoons in  selling  it,  but  the  hours  outside  these  money- 
earning  duties  were  passed  between  her  fiddle  and  her 
books.  The  cobbler  often  remarked  that  her  mumbling 
over  those  difficult  lessons  at  his  side  taught  him  more 
than  he'd  ever  learned  in  school.  Sometimes  when  they 
were  having  heart-to-heart  talks,  Jinnie  confided  to  him 
her  ambitions. 

"I'd  like  to  fiddle  all  my  life,  Lafe,"  she  told  him  once. 
"I  wonder  if  people  ever  made  money  fiddling;  do  they, 
Lafe?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  honey,"  he  answered,  sadly. 

"But  you  like  it,  eh,  Lafe?" 

"Sure!  .    .    .  Better'n  anything." 

One  day  in  the  early  summer,  when  there  was  a  touch' 
of  blue  mist  in  the  clear,  warm  air,  Jinnie  wandered  into 
the  wealthy  section  of  the  town,  hoping  thereby  to  estab- 
lish a  new  customer  or  two. 

122 


JINNIE  DISCOVERS  THRONE      123 

Maudlin  Bates  had  warned  her  not  to  enter  his  terri- 
tory or  to  trespass  upon  his  part  of  the  marshland,  and 
for  that  reason  she  had  in  the  past  but  turned  longing  eyes 
to  the  hillside  besprinkled  with  handsome  homes. 

But  Lafe  replied,  when  she  told  him  this,  "No  section 
belongs  to  Maudlin  alone,  honey.  .  .  .  Just  go  where  you 
like." 

She  now  entered  a  large  open  gate  into  which  an  auto- 
mobile had  just  disappeared,  and  walked  toward  the  house. 

She  paused  to  admire  the  exterior  of  the  mansion.  On 
the  front,  the  porches  were  furnished  with  rocking  chairs 
and  hammocks,  but  no  person  was  in  sight.  She  walked 
around  to  the  back,  but  as  she  was  about  to  knock,  a  voice 
arrested  her  action. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  somebody?" 

She  turned  hastily.  There  before  her  was  her  King, 
the  man  she  had  met  on  that  memorable  night  more  than 
two  years  before.  He  doffed  his  cap  smiling,  recognizing 
her  immediately,  and  Jinnie  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair,  while  the  shortwood  strap  slipped  slowly  from  her 
shoulders. 

"Ah,  you  have  something  to  sell?"  he  interrogated. 

Jinnie's  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  She 
had  never  completely  forgotten  him,  and  his  smile  was  a 
delightful  memory.  Now  as  he  watched  her  quizzically, 
all  her  former  admiration  returned. 

"Well,  well,"  laughed  the  man,  "if  this  isn't  my  little 
violin  girl.  It's  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you  last.  .  .  . 
Do  you  love  your  music  as  much  as  ever?" 

Her  first  glance  at  him  brought  the  flushing  conscious- 
ness that  she  was  but  a  shortwood  gatherer;  the  strap 
and  its  burden  placed  a  great  barrier  between  them.  But 
his  question  about  the  fiddle,  her  fiddle,  placed  her  again 
on  equal  footing  with  him.  She  permitted  herself  to  smile. 


124  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"I  play  every  day.  My  uncle  loves  it,  but  my  aunt 
doesn't,"  she  answered  naively. 

"And  you're  selling  wood?" 

"Yes,  I  must  help  a  little." 

She  made  the  assertion  proudly,  offering  no  excuse  for 
her  chosen  trade. 

"And  this  is  all  for  sale  ?"  indicating  the  wood. 

"Yes,"  said  Jinnie,  looking  down  upon  it. 

"I'll  take  it  all,"  Theodore  offered,  putting  his  hand 
into  his  pocket.  "How  much  do  you  want  for  it?" 

The  girl  gave  him  a  puzzled  glance.  "I  don't  just 

know,  but  I  wish 1  wish  I  could  give  it  to  you  without 

any  pay." 

She  moved  a  little  closer  and  questioned  eagerly : 

"Won't  you  please  take  it?" 

An  amused  expression  crossed  the  man's  handsome  face. 

"Of  course  not,  my  child,"  he  exclaimed.  "That 
wouldn't  be  business.  I  want  to  buy  it.  ...  How  about 
a  dollar?" 

Jinnie  gasped.  A  dollar,  a  whole  dollar!  She  made 
but  little  more  during  an  entire  week;  she  had  made  less. 

A  dollar  would  buy Then  a  thought  flashed  across  her 

mind. 

"I  couldn't  take  a  dollar,"  she  refused,  "it's  too  much. 
It's  only  worth  about  twenty  cents." 

"But  if  I  choose  to  give  you  a  dollar?"  pursued  the 
man. 

Again  the  purple  black  curls  shook  decidedly. 

"I  couldn't  take  more'n  it's  worth.  My  uncle  wouldn't 
like  me  to.  He  says  all  we  can  expect  in  this  world's  our 
own  and  no  more.  Twenty  cents  is  all." 

Mr.  King  studied  her  face,  thoughtfully. 

"I've  an  idea,  a  good  one.  Now  what  do  you  say  to 
furnishing  me  wood  every  morning,  say  at  fifty  cents  a 


JINNIE  DISCOVERS  THRONE      125 

d&y.  We  use  such  a  lot !  You  could  bring  a  little  more 
if  you  like  or — or  come  twice." 

Jinnie  could  scarcely  believe  she'd  heard  aright.  Un- 
shed tears  dimmed  her  eyes. 

"I  wouldn't  have  to  peddle  to  any  one  else,  then,  would 
I?"  she  stammered. 

"No !    That's  just  what  I  meant." 

Then  the  tears  welled  over  the  drooping  lids  and  a 
feeling  of  gratitude  surged  through  the  girl's  whole  be- 
ing. Fifty  cents  a  day !  It  was  such  a  lot  of  money — as 
much  as  Lafe  made  five  days  out  of  six. 

Jinnie  sent  the  man  a  fleeting  glance,  meeting  his  smil- 
ing eyes  with  pulsing  blood. 

"I'd  love  to  do  it,"  she  whispered  gratefully.  "Then 
I'd  have  a  lot  of  time  to — to — fiddle." 

Mr.  King's  hand  slipped  into  his  pocket. 

"I'll  pay  you  fifty  cents  for  to-day's  wood,"  he  de- 
cided, "and  fifty  for  what  you're  going  to  bring  to-mor- 
row. Is  that  satisfactory?" 

As  if  in  a  dream,  Jinnie  tumbled  out  the  contents  of  the 
shortwood  strap.  As  she  took  the  money  from  Mr.  King's 
hand,  his  fingers  touched  hers ;  she  thrilled  to  the  tips  of 
her  curls.  Then  she  ran  hastily  down  the  long  road,  only 
turning  to  glance  back  when  she  reached  the  gate.  Mr. 
King  stood  just  where  she  had  left  him,  and  was  looking 
after  her.  He  raised  his  cap,  and  Jinnie,  with  burning 
face,  fled  on  again. 

She  wondered  what  Lafe  would  say  about  her  unex- 
pected good  fortune.  She  would  tell  him  first,  before  she 
saw  Peggy.  She  imagined  how  the  sweet  smile  would  cross 
his  lips,  and  how  he  would  put  his  arm  gently  around 
her. 

Lafe  heard  her  open  the  side  door  and  called, 

"Come  in,  honey !  .   .   .  Come  on  in." 


126  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

She  entered  after  one  hasty  glance  proved  the  cobbler 
was  alone. 

"You  sold  quick  to-day,  lass,"  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

Jinnie  had  planned  on  the  way  home  to  make  great 
rehearsing  of  Theodore  King's  kindness,  but  in  another  in- 
stant she  broke  forth: 

"Lafe,  Lafe !  I've  got  something  to  tell  you !  Oh,  a 
lovely  something !  I  sold  all  the  wood  to  one  man,  and  I'm 
going  to  take  him  a  load  every  day,  and  get  fifty  cents 
for  it.  Regular  customer,  Lafe !  .  .  .  Here's  a  dollar  for 
Peg." 

Lafe  did  just  what  Jinnie  expected  he  would,  slipped  an 
arm  about  her  waist. 

"The  good  God  be  praised!"  he  ejaculated.  "Stand 
here  an'  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"It  was  Mr.  King " 

"Theodore  King?"  asked  Lafe.  "Why,  he's  the  richest 
man  in  town.  He  owns  the  iron  works." 

Jinnie  nodded.  "Yes !  He's  the  one  I  played  for  in 
the  train  when  I  first  came  here.  You  remember  my  tell- 
ing you,  Lafe?  And  he  wants  wood  every  day  from  me. 
Isn't  it  fine?" 

"  'Tis  so !"  affirmed  Lafe.  "Jinnie,  lass,  them  angels 
come  in  shapes  of  human  bein's — mostly  so.  Now  go  tell 
Peggy.  It'll  take  a  load  off'n  her  heart." 

As  Jinnie  told  her  story  to  Mrs.  Grandoken  and  handed 
her  the  money,  the  woman's  lips  twitched  at  the  corners, 
but  she  only  said,  warningly: 

"Don't  get  a  swelled  head  over  your  doin's,  lass,  for  a 
brat  ain't  responsible  for  her  own  smartness." 

One  morning,  about  a  week  afterward,  Jinnie  rapped  at 
the  back  door  of  the  King  mansion. 

"Is  Mr.  King  in?"  she  asked  timidly  of  the  servant. 


JINNIE  DISCOVERS  THRONE      127 

The  girl  stared  hard  at  the  flushed,  pretty  face. 

"He's  in,  but  you  can  leave  the  wood  if  you  want  to." 

"No,"  refused  Jinnie.    "I  want  to  see  him." 

The  maid  turned  away,  grumbling,  and  Jinnie  backed 
from  the  door  with  bated  breath. 

Mr.  King  appeared  immediately,  seemingly  embar- 
rassed. He  took  both  her  hands. 

"Why,  my  dear  child!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'd  completely 
forgotten  to  leave  the  money  for  the  wood,  and  you've 
been  bringing  it  every  day." 

"Peggy  made  the  dqllar  go  a  long  ways — that  and 
Lafe's  money.  We  didn't  need  any  till  to-day.  ...  So 
— so  I  asked  for  you." 

"I'm  glad  you  did,"  responded  King,  counting  and  giv- 
ing her  the  money. 

Then  his  glance  fell  upon  the  bulging  shortwood  strap. 

"I'm  afraid  you  carry  too  much  at  a  time,"  he  admon- 
ished, gravely.  "You  mustn't  do  that." 

Jinnie  dropped  her  eyes. 

"I  was  talking  to  my  uncle  about  it,"  she  explained 
embarrassedly,  "and  he  thought  same's  I,  that  you  were 
paying  too  much  for  that  little  wood.  I'm  goin'  to  bring 
more  after  this." 

"I'm  satisfied,  though,  and  I  can't  have  you  hurting 
yourself  by  being  too  strenuously  honest.  ...  I  might — 
yes,  I  will!  I'll  send  for  you  every  day  or  every 
other " 

Jinnie's  eyes  lighted  up  with  happiness. 

"Oh,  sir, "  she  began  entreatingly. 

"Wait "  said  Mr.  King.  "It's  this  way !  If  you 

brought  it  up  here  in  one  of  my  cars,  it  would  save  a  lot 
of  your  time,  and  you  wouldn't  have  to  come  every  day." 

"I  could  fiddle  more,"  Jinnie  blurted  radiantly.  She 
remembered  how  sympathetically  he  had  listened  to  her 


128  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

through  the  blizzard.  He  liked  the  fiddle!  She  went  a 
little  nearer  him.  "I'm  trying  to  make  a  tune  different 
from  any  I've  ever  done,  and  I  can't  always  play  well 
after  lugging  shortwood  all  day.  .  .  .  I'd  love  to  deliver 
it  the  way  you  said." 

King  stood  gazing  at  her.  How  strangely  beautiful 
she  was !  Something  in  the  wind-browned  face  stirred  his 
heart  to  its  depths. 

"Then  that's  settled,"  he  said  kindly.  "You  tell  me 
where  to  have  my  man  and  what  time,  and  to-morrow  he'll 
meet  you." 

Jinnie  thought  a  moemnt. 

"I  wonder  if  he  knows  where  Paradise  Road  ends  near 
the  edge  of  the  marsh." 

"He  could  find  it,  of  course." 

"There's  a  path  going  into  the  marsh  right  at  the  end 
of  the  road.  I'll  meet  him  there  to-morrow  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and — and  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you." 

When  Jinnie  told  Lafe  of  the  new  arrangement,  she 
gurgled  with  joy. 

"Lafe,  now  I'll  make  that  tune." 

"Yes,  honey,"  murmured  Lafe  contentedly.  "Now  get 
your  fiddle  and  practice ;  after  that  you  c'n  study  a  while 
out  of  that  there  grammar  book." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

RED   EOSES   AND   YELLOW 

THE  days  went  on  peacefully  after  the  new  arrange- 
ments for  the  shortwood.  Every  other  day,  at  twelve 
o'clock,  one  of  Theodore  King's  cars  waited  for  Jinnie  at 
the  head  of  the  path  leading  into  the  marsh. 

When  the  weather  was  stormy,  Bennett,  the  chauffeur, 
took  the  wood,  telling  Jinnie  to  run  along  home. 

All  this  made  it  possible  for  Jinnie  to  study  profitably 
during  the  warm  months,  and  by  the  last  of  August  she 
had  mastered  many  difficult  subjects.  Lafe  helped  her 
when  he  could,  but  often  shook  his  head  despondently  as 
she  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  bench,  asking  his  advice. 

"The  fact  is,  honey,  I  ain't  got  much  brains,"  he  said 
to  her  one  afternoon.  "If  I  hung  by  my  neck  till  I  could 
see  through  them  figures,  I'd  be  as  dead  as  Moses." 

One  Thursday  morning,  as  she  climbed  into  the  big  car 
with  her  load,  Bennett  said, 

.  "I  ain't  goin'  to  pay  you  this  mornin' !     The  boss'll 
do  it.    Mr.  King  wants  to  see  you." 

Jinnie  nodded,  her  heart  pounding. 

It  was  delightful  to  contemplate  seeing  him  once  more. 
She  wondered  where  he  had  been  all  these  days  and  if.  he 
had  thought  of  her.  Jinnie's  pulses  were  galloping  along 
like  a  race  horse.  She  stood  quietly  until  the  master  was 
called,  and  he  came  quickly  without  making  her  wait. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor,"  he  said,  com- 
ing forward,  holding  out  his  hand. 

129 


130  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

Now  when  Jinnie  first  heard  that  he  wished  to  see  her, 
she  thought  her  heart  could  beat  no  faster,  but  his  words 
made  that  small  organ  tattoo  against  her  sides  like  the 
flutter  of  a  bird's  wing  in  fright.  She  could  do  something 
for  him!  Oh,  what  joy!  What  unutterable  joy ! 

"We're  going  to  have  some  friends  here  Sunday  even- 
ing " 

The  sudden  upfling  of  Jinnie's  head  cut  off  his  words. 

What  difference  would  his  having  friends  make  to  her? 
Oh,  yes,  they  wanted  more  wood.  How  gladly  she  would 
get  it  for  him;  search  all  day  for  the  driest  pieces  if  he 
needed  them ! 

"I  was  wondering,"  proceeded  Mr.  King,  "if  you  would 
come  here  with  your  violin  and  play  for — for — us?" 

Jinnie's  knees  relaxed  and  she  staggered  back  against 
the  wall. 

"You  musn't  feel  embarrassed  about  it,"  he  hurried  on. 
"I'd  be  very  much  indebted  to  you  if  you  thought  you 
could." 

Tears  were  so  perilously  near  Jinnie's  lids  that  some  of 
them  rolled  into  her  throat.  To  regain  her  self-possession 
enough  to  speak,  she  swallowed  several  times  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. Such  a  compliment  she'd  never  been  paid  before. 
She  brought  her  hands  together  appealingly,  and  Mr. 
King  noticed  that  his  request  had  heightened  her  color. 

"I'd  love  to  do  it,"  she  breathed. 

"Of  course  I'll  pay  you  for  it,"  he  said,  not  able  to 
think  of  anything  else. 

"I  couldn't  take  any  money  for  fiddling,"  replied  Jin- 
nie. "But  I'll  come.  Lafe  says  money  can't  be  made  that 
way." 

She  turned  to  go,  but  Mr.  King  detained  her. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  insisted.  "I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing !  You've  a  great  gift — a  wonderful  genius — and  out 


RED  ROSES  AND  YELLOW       131 

of  such  genius  much  money  is  made.  ...  I  couldn't  think 
of  letting  you  come  here  unless  you  allowed  me  to  remu- 
nerate you." 

Jinnie  listened  attentively  to  all  he  said,  but  refusal 
was  still  in  her  steady  gaze.  Mr.  King,  seeing  this,  con- 
tinued quickly: 

"I  want  you  very  much,  but  on  that  one  point  I  must 
have  my  way.  I  shall  give  you  twenty-five  dollars  for 
playing  three  pieces." 

Then  Jinnie  thought  she  was  going  to  faint.  Twenty- 
five  dollars  !  It  was  a  fortune — a  huge  fortune !  But  she 
couldn't  take  money  for  playing  tunes  that  came  from 
her  heart — tunes  that  were  a  part  of  herself  the  same  as 
her  hands  or  feet.  But  before  she  could  offer  another  ar- 
gument, the  man  finished  hurriedly : 

"It's  settled  now.  You're  to  come  here  Sunday  night  at 
eight.  I'll  send  for  you." 

Lafe  was  sitting  at  the  window  as  she  ran  through  the 
shortcut  along  the  tracks.  Her  curls  were  flying  in  the 
wind,  her  cheeks  glowing  with  flaming  color.  Every  day 
the  cobbler  loved  her  more,  for  in  spite  of  the  dark  soil  in 
which  Jinnie  thrived,  she  grew  lovelier  in  spirit  and  face. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  both  of  her  arms  an- 
swered his  salute.  When  the  door  burst  open,  Lafe  put 
down  his  hammer  expectantly.  Before  he  could  speak,  she 
was  down  upon  her  knees  at  his  side,  her  curly  head  buried 
in  his  loving  arms,  and  tears  were  raining  down  her  face. 

Lafe  allowed  her  to  cry  a  few  moments.     Then  he  said: 

"Something's  hurt  my  lassie's  heart.  .  .  .  Somebody! 
.  .  .  Was  it  Maudlin?" 

Through  the  tears  shone  a  radiant  smile. 

"I'm  crying  for  joy,  Lafe,"  she  sobbed.  "I'm  going  to 
play  my  fiddle  at  Mr.  King's  house  and  make  twenty-five 
dollars  for  three  tunes." 


132  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

Lafe's  jaws  dropped  apart  incredulously. 

"Twenty-five  dollars  for  play  in*  your  fiddle,  child?" 

Jinnie  told  all  that  had  happened  since  leaving  home. 

Then  Peggy  had  to  be  told,  and  when  the  amount  of 
money  was  mentioned  and  Jinnie  said : 

"It'll  all  be  yours,  Peggy,  when  I  get  it," 

Mrs.  Grandoken  grunted: 

"You  didn't  make  your  insides,  lassie.  It  ain't  to  your 
credit  you  can  fiddle,  so  don't  get  stuck  up." 

Jinnie  laughed  gaily  and  went  to  the  kitchen,  where  for 
two  hours,  with  Bobbie  curled  up  in  the  chair  holding 
Happy  Pete,  she  brought  from  the  strings  of  the  instru- 
ment she  loved,  mournful  tunes  mingled  with  laughing 
songs,  such  as  no  one  in  Bellaire  had  ever  heard. 

Over  and  over,  as  Lafe  listened,  he  wondered  where  and 
how  such  music  could  be  born  in  the  child — for  Jinnie,  to 
the  lame  cobbler,  would  always  be  a  little,  little  girl. 

Later  Jinnie  went  to  the  store,  and  when  Peggy  had 
watched  her  cross  the  street,  she  sat  down  in  front  of  her 
husband. 

"Lafe,"  she  said,  "what's  the  kid  goin'  to  wear  to 
King's?  .  .  .  She  can't  go  in  them  clothes  she's  got  on." 

Lafe  looked  up,  startled. 

"Sure  'nough;  I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  answered. 
"An'  I  don't  believe  she  has  uther." 

It  was  the  cobbler  who  spoke  to  Jinnie  about  it. 

"I  suppose  you  hain't  thought  what  you're  going  to 
wear  Sunday  night?" 

Jinnie  whirled  around  upon  him. 

"Oh,  Lafe!"  she  faltered,  sitting  down  quickly. 

"Peggy  'lowed  you'd  forgotten  that  part  of  it." 

"I  did,  Lafe ;  I  did !    Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do !" 

"I  wisht  I  had  somethin'  for  you,  Jinnie  dear,"  breathed 
Bobbie,  touching  her  hand. 


RED  ROSES  AND  YELLOW        133 

Jinnie's  only  response  was  to  put  her  fingers  on  the 
child's  head — her  eyes  still  on  the  cobbler. 

"What  did  Peggy  say,  Lafe?" 

"Nothin',  only  you  couldn't  go  in  the  clothes  you  got." 

Jinnie  changed  her  position  that  she  might  see  to  better 
advantage  the  plain  little  dress  she  was  wearing. 

"But  I've  got  to  go,  Lafe ;  oh,  I've  got  to !"  she  insisted. 
"Mr.  King  wants  me.  .  .  .  Please,  Lafe,  please !" 

"Call  Peggy,  Bobbie,"  said  Laft,  in  answer  to  Jinnie's 
impetuous  speech. 

Bobbie  felt  his  way  to  the  door,  and  Peggy  came  in  an- 
swer to  the  child's  call. 

"I  only  thought  of  the  twenty-five  dollars  and  the  fid- 
dling, Peggy,"  said  Jinnie  as  Mrs.  Grandoken  rolled  her 
hands  in  her  apron  and  sat  down.  "Did  you  say  I  couldn't 
go  in  these  clothes  ?" 

"I  did;  I  sure  did.  You  can't  go  in  them  clothes,  an' 
what  you're  goin'  to  wear  is  more'n  I  can  make  out.  I'll 
have  to  think.  .  .  .  Just  let  me  alone  for  a  little  while." 

It  was  after  Jinnie  had  gone  to  bed  with  Bobbie  that 
Peg  spoke  about  it  again  to  Lafe. 

"I've  only  got  one  thing  I  could  rig  her  a  dress  out  of," 
she  said.  "I  don't  want  to  do  it  because  I  hate  her  so! 
If  I  hated  her  any  worse,  I'd  bust !" 

The  cobbler  raised  his  hand,  making  a  gesture  of  denial. 

"Peggy,   dear,   you   don't  hate   the   poor   little   lass." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Peg.  "I  hate  everybody  in  the  world 
but  you.  .  .  .  Everybody  but  you,  Lafe." 

"What'd  you  think  might  make  a  dress  for  'er?"  asked 
Grandoken  presently. 

Before  answering,  Peg  brought  her  feet  together  and 
looked  down  at  her  toes.  "There's  them  lace  curtains  ma 
give  me  when  she  died,"  she  said.  "Them  that's  wrapped 
up  in  paper  on  the  shelf." 


134  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Lafe  uttered  a  surprised  ejaculation. 

"I  couldn't  let  you  do  that,  Peg,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head.  "Them's  the  last  left  over  from  your  mother's 
stuff.  Everything  else's  gone.  ...  I  couldn't  let  you, 
Peggy." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  gave  a  shake  of  defiance. 

"Whose  curtains  be  they,  Lafe?"  she  asked.  "Be  they 
mine  or  yourn?" 

"Yourn,  Peggy  dear,  and  may  God  bless  you !" 

All  through  the  night  Jinnie  had  dreadful  dreams.  The 
thought  of  either  not  going  to  Mr.  King's  or  that  she 
might  not  have  anything  fit  to  wear  filled  the  hours  with 
nightmares  and  worryings.  In  the  morning,  after  she 
crawled  out  of  bed  and  was  wearily  dressing  Bobbie,  the 
little  blind  boy  felt  intuitively  something  was  wrong  with 
his  friend. 

"Is  Jinnie  sick?"  he  whispered,  feeling  her  face.  "My 
stars  ain't  shinin'  much." 

The  girl  kissed  him. 

"No,  honey,"  she  said,  "Jinnie's  only  sad,  not  sick." 

Together  they  went  into  the  shop,  where  Peggy  stood 
with  the  most  gorgeous  lacy  stuff  draped  over  her  arms. 
Strewn  here  and  there  over  the  yards  and  yards  of  it  were 
bright  yellow  and  red  roses.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  beautiful  to  the  girl,  as  with  widening  eyes  she  gazed 
at  it.  Lafe's  face  was  shining  with  happiness.  Peggy 
didn't  seem  to  notice  the  two  as  they  entered,  but  she  lifted 
the  lace,  displaying  its  length  stolidly. 

Jinnie  bounded  forward. 

"What  is  it,  Peg?     What  is  it?" 

Lafe  beamed  through  his  spectacles. 

"A  dress  for  you,  girl  dear.  Peggy's  givin'  you  the 
things  she  loves  best.  She's  the  only  woman  in  the  world, 
Jinnie." 


RED  ROSES  AND  YELLOW        135 

Reverently  Jinnie  went  to  Mrs.  Grandoken's  side.  She 
felt  abjectly  humble  in  the  presence  of  this  great  sacri- 
fice. She  looked  up  into  the  glum  face  of  the  cobbler's 
wife  and  waited  in  breathless  hesitation.  Peg  permitted 
her  eyes  to  fall  upon  the  girl. 

"You  needn't  feel  so  glad  nor  look's  if  you  was  goin' 
to  tumble  over,"  she  said.  "It  ain't  no  credit  to  any  one 
them  curtains  was  on  the  shelf  waitin'  to  be  cut  up  in  a 
dress  for  you  to  fiddle  in.  Go  put  the  mush  on  that  there 
stove !" 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE  LITTLE   FIDDLER 

JINNIE'S  heart  was  skipping  about  like  a  silly  little  kit- 
ten as  she  sat  watching  Peg's  stiff  fingers  making  large 
stitches  in  the  lace. 

"Oh,  Peg,  isn't  it  lovely?  Perfectly  beautiful!  No- 
body ever  had  a  dress  like  that !  .  .  .  My,  Peggy !  How 
your  fingers  fly!" 

Peg's  face  was  noncommittal  to  the  point  of  blankness. 

"Tain't  no  credit  to  me  what  my  hands  do,  Miss  Jin- 
nie,"  she  said  querulously.  "I  didn't  make  'em." 

The  girl's  happiness  was  absolutely  complete.  The 
dress  would  be  finished  and  Sunday  evening oh,  Sun- 
day evening!  Then  she  walked  restlessly  to  the  window 
and  studied  the  sky. 

"I  hope  it  doesn't  rain  to-morrow!  .  .  .  Oh,  Peggy, 
don't  you  hope  so  too?"  Mrs.  Grandoken  glowered  at  her. 

"Kid,"  she  said,  "come  away  from  that  window.  You 
been  doin'  nothin'  but  wishin'  'twon't  rain  all  day.  You'll 
wear  out  the  patience  of  the  Almighty ;  then  he'll  make  it 
rain  an'  soak  you  through  a-purpose." 

"I  don't  know  which  I  like  best,  Lafe,"  the  girl  remarked 
presently,  turning  to  the  cobbler,  "the  red  roses  or  the 
yellow." 

Bobbie  came  to  Jinnie's  side  and  fingered  the  lace. 

"Tell  me  how  the  dress  looks,  dear,"  he  whispered,  tug- 
ging at  her  sleeve. 

136 


'YOU  NEEDN'T  FEEL  so  GLAD  NOR  LOOK  AS  IF  YOU  WAS  COIN'  TO  TUMBLE  OVER.    IT  AIN'T  NO  CREDIT  TO 

ANYONE  THEM  CURTAINS  WAS  ON  THE  SHELF  WAITIN1  TO  BE  CUT  UP  IN  A  DRESS  FOB   YOU 
TO  FIDDLE  IN." 


THE   LITTLE    FIDDLER          137 

"Sure,"  agreed  Jinnie.  "Feel  right  here !  Well,  that's 
a  beautiful  red  rose  and  here's  a  yellow  one.  She  took  his 
small  finger  and  traced  it  over  a  yard  of  lace.  "Feel  that?" 

"Yes,"  murmured  Bobbie. 

"Well,  that's  a  green  vine  running  up  and  down,  and 
all  around  among  the  roses." 

"Oh,  my!"  gasped  Bobbie.  "Red  and  yellow.  That's 
how  the  sun  looks  when  it's  go  in'  down,  ain't  it?  And 
green's  like  the  grass,  eh?" 

"Just  the  same,"  replied  Jinnie,  laughing. 

"It's  a  beauty,"  supplemented  Lafe,  glowing  with  ten- 
derness. "There  won't  be  a  dress  at  that  party  that'll 
beat  it." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  shook  out  the  voluminous  folds  of  lace. 

"Anybody'd  think  to  hear  you  folks  talk  that  you'd 
made  these  rag  tags  with  your  toe  nails,"  she  observed 
dryly.  "The  smacking  of  some  folks'  lips  over  sugar  they 
don't  earn  makes  me  tired !  Laws  me !  .  .  .  Now  I'll  try 
it  on  you,  Jinnie,"  she  ended. 

Jinnie  turned  around  and  around  with  slow  precision 
as  Mrs.  Grandoken  ascertained  the  correct  hanging  of 
the  skirt.  When  the  last  stitches  had  been  put  in,  and  the 
dress  lay  in  all  its  gorgeous  splendor  across  the  chair, 
Peg  coughed  awkwardly  and  spoke  of  shoes. 

"You  can't  wear  them  cowhides  with  lace,"  said  she. 

"I  might  make  a  pair  if  I  had  a  day  and  the  stuff," 
suggested  Lafe,  looking  around  helplessly. 

"Ain't  time,"  replied  Peg.  And  of  course  it  was  she 
who  gave  Jinnie  some  money  taken  from  a  small  bag 
around  her  neck  and  ordered  her  to  the  shop  for  shoes. 

"She  ought  to  have  a  fiddle  box,"  Lafe  suggested. 

"There  ain't  'nough  money  in  the  house  for  that,"  re- 
plied Peg — "but  I'll  give  her  a  piece  of  the  curtains  to 
wrap  it  up  in." 


138  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"That'll  look  better'n  a  box,"  smiled  Lafe.  "I'm  a 
happy  cobbler,  I  am." 

When  Jinnie  returned  with  a  pair  of  low  black  slippers, 
no  one  noticed  that  they  weren't  quite  what  should  have 
been  worn  with  a  lace  frock.  Contentment  reigned  su- 
preme in  the  Grandoken  home  that  day. 


Sunday  evening  at  seven  Jinnie  displayed  herself  to 
Lafe.  The  cobbler  gave  a  contented  nod. 

"You  and  the  dress're  beautiful,"  he  ruminated.  "Won- 
derful! .  .  .  Kiss  me,  Jinnie!" 

She  not  only  kissed  Lafe,  but  Bobbie,  Happy  Pete,  and 
Milly  Ann,  too,  came  in  for  their  share.  Peg  looked  so 
sour,  so  forbidding,  that  Jinnie  only  faltered, 

"Much  obliged,  Peggy  darling.  .  .  .  Oh,  I'm  so  happy !" 
She  stood  directly  in  front  of  Mrs.  Grandoken.  "Aren't 
you,  dear?"  she  besought. 

"We're  all  glad,  lass,"  put  in  the  cobbler. 

Jinnie's  blue,  blue  eyes  were  seeking  approbation  from 
the  gaunt,  frowning  woman. 

"None  of  you've  got  the  sense  of  my  bedpost,"  snapped 
Peg,  sniffing  the  air.  "Get  along.  They're  waitin'  for 
you." 

Jinnie  arrived  in  great  excitement  at  Theodore  King's 
door.  She  stumbled  up  the  stone  steps  of  the  mansion 
with  the  fiddle  carefully  wrapped  under  her  arm. 

"Is  Mr.  King  here?"  she  asked  of  the  maid,  hesitatingly. 

She  stood  very  still,  scarcely  breathing,  until  they  called 
the  master  of  the  house,  and  as  Theodore's  eyes  fell  upon 
the  lace  dress,  with  its  red  and  yellow  roses  and  green 
vines  running  the  length  of  the  slim  young  figure,  he 
smoothed  away  a  smile  that  forced  itself  to  his  lips. 


THE   LITTLE   FIDDLER          139 

Out  of  gratitude  to  Peggy,  Jinnie  felt  she  ought  to 
speak  of  the  frock,  so  with  an  admiring  glance  downward, 
she  confided: 

"Peggy  made  my  dress  out  of  her  dead  mother's  cur- 
tains, and  gave  me  this  piece  for  my  fiddle.  .  .  .  Wasn't 
it  lovely  of  her?" 

The  pleading,  soulful,  violet  eyes  stirred  Theodore  King 
with  a  new  sensation.  He  had  passed  unscathed  through 
the  fires  of  imploring,  inviting  glances  and  sweet,  tempt- 
ing lips,  nor  yet  realized  that  some  day  this  black-haired 
girl  would  call  him  to  a  reckoning. 

"It's  very  pretty,  very  pretty,"  he  affirmed  hurriedly. 
"I'm  glad  you're  here.  .  .  .  Just  wait  for  a  moment.  I'll 
come  back  for  you." 

There  was  a  fixed  line  between  his  handsome  eyes  as  he 
faced  his  guests.  Theodore  couldn't  analyze  his  feelings 
toward  Jinnie,  but  he  was  determined  none  should  make 
sport  of  her. 

"I've  prepared  a  great  treat  for  you,"  he  stated,  smil- 
ing, "but  I  want  to  ask  you  to  overlook  anything  that 
may  seem  incongruous,  for  the  musician  is  very  sensitive." 

Then  he  went  back  for  Jinnie,  and  she  followed  him  into 
the  large  room.  The  gorgeous  red  and  yellow  roses  in  the 
limply  hanging  blouse  lent  a  color  to  her  sunburned  skin. 

"You  may  play  anything  you  like,"  Theodore  whispered. 

"All  right,"  nodded  Jinnie. 

She  unwrapped  the  fiddle  and  tuned  it  with  nimble  fin- 
gers. Not  until  she  placed  the  instrument  under  her  chin 
did  she  raise  her  head.  Her  eyes  went  searchingly  from 
face  to  face  of  the  attentive  assembly.  It  so  happened 
that  they  fell  upon  a  crown  of  golden  hair  above  a  pair  of 
dark  eyes  she  vividly  remembered.  The  glance  took  her 
back  to  that  night  more  than  two  years  before — to  the 
night  when  her  father  died. 


140  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Molly  Merriweather  was  seated  in  queenly  fashion  in 
one  of  the  large  chairs,  a  questioning  look  stealing  over 
her  countenance.  Jinnie  smiled  at  her  and  began  to  play. 
It  might  have  been  the  beautiful  woman  opposite  that 
brought  forth  the  wild  hill  story,  told  in  marvelous  har- 
monies. The  rapt  young  face  gave  no  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment, for  Jinnie  was  completely  lost  in  her  melodious  task. 
Above  the  dimpled  chin  that  hugged  the  brown  fiddle, 
Theodore  King  could  see  the  brooding  genius  of  the  girl, 
and  longed  to  bring  a  passionate  lovelight  for  himself  into 
the  glorious  eyes.  The  intensity  of  the  music  established 
in  him  an  unconquerable  hope — a  hope  that  could  not  die 
as  long  as  life  was  in  him,  as  long  as  life  was  in  the  little 
fiddler. 

As  Jinnie  finished  with  dramatic  brilliancy,  great  ap- 
plause and  showers  of  congratulations  fell  upon  her  ears. 
Theodore  went  to  her  quickly. 

*' Wonderful!  Splendid,  child!"  he  declared  joyously. 
"You're  a  genius !" 

His  words  increased  her  joy — his  compelling  dark  eyes 
added  to  her  desire  to  do  her  best. 

S"1  ?  meditated  one  moment.  Then  thoroughly  uncon- 
scious of  herself,  turned  and  spoke  to  the  audience. 

"I'll  play  about  fairies  .  .  .  the  ones  who  live  in  the 
woods  and  hide  away  in  the  flowers  and  under  the  leaves." 

Once  more  she  began  to  play.  She  believed  in  fairies 
with  all  her  heart  and  had  no  doubt  but  that  every  one 
else  did.  Under  the  spell  of  her  music  and  her  loveliness, 
imaginary  elves  stole  from  the  solitude  of  the  summer 
night,  to  join  their  tiny  hands  and  dance  to  the  rhythm 
of  her  song. 

As  she  lowered  her  violin  and  looked  around,  she  saw 
astonishment  on  the  faces  of  the  strangers  about  her.  A 
deathlike  hush  prevailed  and  Jinnie  could  hear  the  feverish 


THE   LITTLE    FIDDLER          141 

blood  as  it  struck  at  her  temples.  Into  her  eyes  came  an 
unfathomable  expression,  and  Theodore  King,  attracted 
by  their  latent  passion,  went  rapidly  to  her. 

"It's  exquisite !"  he  said  vehemently.  "Can't  you  see 
how  much  every  one  likes  it?" 

"Do  you?"  queried  Jinnie,  looking  up  at  him. 

"I  love  it,  child;  I  love  it.  ...  Will  you  play  again, 
please?" 

A  flame  of  joy  suffused  her  as  again  she  turned  to  the 
open-eyed  crowd. 

"Once,"  she  informed  them,  "a  big  lion  was  hurt  in  the 
forest  by  lightning.  .  .  .  This — is — how  he  died." 

She  slowly  raised  the  instrument,  and  sounded  a  vi- 
brant, resonant,  minor  tone,  measured,  full  and  magnifi- 
cent. Each  listener  sank  back  with  a  sigh. 

Jinnie  knew  the  mysteries  of  the  forest  as  well  as  a 
singer  knows  his  song,  and  she  had  not  presented  ten  notes 
to  the  imagination  of  Theodore's  friends  before  they  were 
carried  away  from  the  dainty  room  in  which  they  sat — 
away  into  a  dense  woodland  where,  for  a  few  minutes,  she 
demonstrated  the  witching  wonders  of  it.  Then  she  slipped 
the  bow  between  her  teeth  and  struck  the  violin  strings 
with  the  backs  of  her  fingers.  The  vibrations  of  impet- 
uous harmony  swept  softly  through  the  lighted  room. 
Louder  and  louder  was  heard  the  awful  fury  of  approach- 
ing thunder,  while  twinkling  string-touches  flashed  forth 
the  lightning  between  the  sonorous  peals. 

Jinnie  never  knew  how  the  fiddle  was  capable  of  ex- 
pressing the  cautious  tread  of  the  terrified  king  of  beasts 
in  his  isolated  kingdom,  but  her  listeners  beheld  him  steal 
cautiously  from  the  underbrush.  They  saw  him  crouch 
in  abject  terror  at  the  foot  of  a  wide-spreading,  gigantic 
tree,  lashing  his  tail  in  elemental  rage.  Then  another 
scintillating  flash  of  lightning,  and  the  beast  caught  it 


142  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

full  in  the  face.  The  slender  hand  of  the  little  player  was 
poised  above  the  strings  for  a  single  vibrating  moment, 
during  which  she  stood  in  a  listening  attitude.  Then,  with 
the  sweep  of  three  slender  fingers,  the  lion's  scream  cut  the 
air  like  a  two-edged  sword. 

Death  came  on  rapidly  in  deep,  resounding  roars,  and 
the  misery  of  the  cringing,  suffering  brute  was  unfolded 
— told  in  heart-rending  intonations,  until  at  last  he  gave 
up  his  breath  in  one  terror-stricken  cry. 

Jinnie  dropped  her  hands  suddenly.  "He's  dead,"  she 
said  tremulously.  "Poor,  poor  lion!" 

She  turned  tear-wet  eyes  to  Theodore  King. 

"Shall  I  play  any  more?"  she  asked,  shyly. 

The  man  shook  his  head,  not  permitting  himself  to 
speak. 

"Miss  Grandoken  has  given  us  a  wonderful  entertain- 
ment," said  he  to  his  friends ;  then  turning  to  her,  he  held 
out  his  hand,  "I  want  to  thank  you,  Miss  Grandoken." 

Many  people  crowded  around  her,  asking  where  and  how 
she  had  learned  such  music. 

Molly  the  Merry,  the  mystified  expression  still  on  her 
face,  drew  near. 

Again  Jinnie  smiled  at  her,  hoping  the  lovely  lips  would 
acknowledge  their  former  acquaintanceship.  But  as  an- 
other person,  a  man,  stepped  between  her  and  the  woman, 
Jinnie  glanced  up  at  him.  He  was  very  handsome,  but 
involuntarily  the  girl  shuddered.  There  was  something 
in  the  curling  of  his  lips  that  was  cruel,  and  the  white- 
ness of  his  teeth  accentuated  the  impression.  His  eyes 
filled  her  with  dread. 

"Where  did  you  learn  that  wonderful  music  ?"  he  smiled. 
...  "I  mean  the  music  itself." 

"Out  of  my  heart,"  she  said  simply.  "I  couldn't  get  it 
anywhere  else." 


THE   LITTLE    FIDDLER          143 

"She's  very  delightful!"  said  the  stranger,  turning  to 
Theodore.  "I've  forgotten  her  name?" 

He  was  so  near  her  that  Jinnie  shrank  back,  and  the 
master  of  the  house  noted  her  embarrassment. 

"Her  name  is  Grandoken,  Miss  Grandoken.  .  .  .  Come," 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Jinnie,  and  as  she  placed 
her  fingers  in  his,  he  led  her  away. 

A  large  car  was  waiting  at  the  front  door,  and  he  held 
her  hand  in  his  for  a  few  seconds.  The  touch  of  her  fing- 
ers thrilled  him  through  and  through.  He  noticed  her 
head  just  reached  his  shoulder  and  a  conscious  desire  to 
draw  her  to  him  for  one  blessed  moment  surged  insistent 
within  him.  He  dropped  her  hand  suddenly. 

"I  wish  now,"  he  said,  smiling,  "I  had  sent  for  you  to 
come  here  before.  It  was  such  a  treat !" 

Jinnie  shrank  away  as  he  offered  her  a  roll  of  bills.  An 
unutterable  shyness  crept  over  her. 

"I  don't  want  it,"  she  said,  gulping  hard.  "I'd  love  to 
fiddle  for  you  all  day  long." 

"But  you  must  take  it,"  insisted  King.  "Now  then,  I 
want  to  know  where  you  live.  I'm  coming  to  see  your 
uncle  very,  very  soon." 

Lafe  and  his  wife  were  waiting  for  the  girl,  and  the  cob- 
bler noticed  Peggy's  eyes  were  misty  as  Jinnie  gave  her 
the  money.  Over  and  over  she  told  them  all  about  it. 

"And  he's  coming  to  see  you,  Lafe,"  she  cried  with  a 
tremulous  laugh.  "Mr.  King  says  some  day  I'll  be  a  great 
player.  Will  I,  Lafe?  Will  I,  Peggy?"  " 

"You  may,"  admitted  Peggy,  "but  don't  get  a  swelled 
head,  'cause  you  couldn't  stop  fiddlin'  any  more'n  a  bird 
could  stop  singin'.  .  .  .  Go  to  bed  now,  this  minute." 

And  as  Jinnie  slept  her  happy  sleep  in  Paradise  Road, 
another  woman  was  walking  to  and  fro  with  a  tall  man 
under  the  trees  at  Theodore  King's  home. 


144  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"I  thought  I'd  scream  with  laughter  when  she  came  in," 
said  Molly  the  Merry.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  Theo's 
warning,  I'm  sure  most  of  us  would.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever 
see  such  a  ridiculous  dress,  Jordan?" 

The  man  was  quiet  for  a  meditative  moment.  "I  for- 
got about  the  dress  when  she  began  to  play,"  he  mused. 
"The  sight  of  her  face  would  drive  all  thoughts  of  incon- 
gruity out  of  a  man's  mind." 

"Yes,  she's  very  pretty,"  admitted  Molly,  reluctantly. 
"And  Jordan,  do  you  know  there's  something  strangely 
familiar  about  her  face?  ...  I  can't  tell  where  I've  seen 
her." 

"Never  mind.  The  important  thing  to  me  is  I  must 
have  money.  Can't  keep  up  appearances  on  air." 

"You  know  I'll  always  help  you  when  I  can,  Jordan." 

"Yes,  I  know  it,  and  I'll  not  let  you  forget  it  either." 

The  woman  gave  him  a  puzzled  look  and  the  man  caught 
her  meaning. 

"You're  wondering  why  I  don't  open  offices  here,  aren't 
you?  Well,  a  person  can't  do  two  things  at  once,  and 
I've  been  pretty  busy  tracing  Virginia  Singleton.  And 
when  I  find  her,  you  know  very  well  I  will  return  every 
penny  I've  borrowed." 

And  later,  when  Molly  went  to  her  room,  she  walked  up 
and  down  thoughtfully,  trying  to  bring  to  her  mind  the 
familiar  violet  eyes  and  the  mass  of  purple  black  curls 
which  were  the  crowning  glory  of  Jinnie  Grandoken. 


THE   COBBLER  S   SECRET 

ONE  Sunday  morning,  Jinnie  sat  with  Lafe  in  the  shop. 
In  hours  like  these  they  thoroughly  enjoyed  themselves. 
The  quietude  of  these  precious  Sabbath  moments  made  the 
week,  with  its  arduous  tasks,  bearable  to  the  sensitive  girl. 

For  several  days  past  Jinnie  had  noticed  Lafe  had 
something  on  his  mind,  but  she  always  allowed  him  to  tell 
her  everything  in  his  own  good  time.  Now  she  felt  the 
time  had  come.  His  gray  face,  worn  with  suffering,  was 
shining  with  a  heavenly  light  as  he  read  aloud  from  a  little 
Bible  in  his  hand.  To-day  he  had  chosen  the  story  of 
Abraham  and  Sarah.  When  he  came  to  the  part  where 
Abraham  said: 

"Lord,  if  now  I  have  found  favor  in  Thy  sight,  pass 
not  away,  I  pray  Thee,  from  Thy  servant,"  he  pronounced 
the  last  word  with  sobbing  breath.  One  quick  glance  was 
enough  for  Jinnie's  comprehension. 

She  leaned  forward  breathlessly. 

"What  is  it,  Lafe?  .    .    .  Something  great?" 

"Yes,  something  great,  lassie,  and  in  God's  name  most 
wonderful." 

Before  Jinnie's  world  of  imagery  passed  all  the  good 
she  had  desired  for  Lafe.  His  softly  spoken,  "In  God's 
name  most  wonderful,"  thrilled  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"And  you've  been  keeping  it  from  me,  Lafe,"  she  chided 
gently.  "Please,  please,  tell  me." 

Lafe  sat  back  in  the  wheel  chair  and  closed  his  eyes. 

145 


146  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"Wait,  child,"  he  breathed  hesitatingly.  "Wait  a  min- 
ute!" 

As  Jinnie  watched  him,  she  tried  to  stifle  the  emotion 
tugging  at  her  heart — to  keep  back  the  tears  that  welled 
into  her  eyes.  Perhaps  what  he  had  to  tell  her  would 
make  her  cry.  Jinnie  hoped  not,  for  she  disliked  to  do 
that.  It  was  so  childlike,  so  like  Blind  Bobbie,  who  always 
had  either  a  beatific  smile  on  his  pale  lips,  or  a  mist  shin- 
ing in  his  rock-gray  eyes. 

At  length  Lafe  sighed  a  long,  deep-drawn  sigh,  and 
smiled. 

"Jinnie,"  he  began 

"Yes,  Lafe." 

"I've  been  wonderin'  if  you  remember  the  story  of  the 
little  feller  God  sent  to  Peg  an'  me — the  one  I  told  you 
would  a  been  six  years  old." 

"Yes,  I  remember,  Lafe." 

"An*  how  good  Peggy  was " 

"Oh,  how  good  Peggy  always  is!"  interjected  Jinnie. 

"Yes,"  breathed  Lafe,  dreamily.  "May  God  bless  my 
woman  in  all  her  trials !" 

Jinnie  hitched  her  chair  nearer  his  and  slipped  her 
arm  about  his  neck  soothingly. 

"She  doesn't  have  trials  you  don't  share,  Lafe,"  she 
declared. 

Lafe  straightened  up. 

"Yes,  Peg  has  many,  lassie,  I  can't  help  'er  with,  an' 
she'll  have  a  many  more.  To  get  to  tell  you  something, 
Jinnie,  I  asked  Peg  to  take  Bobbie  out  with  'er.  We 
can't  turn  the  little  feller  from  the  club  room  when  he 
ain't  out  with  Peg;  can  we,  Jinnie?" 

"Of  course  not,"  agreed  Jinnie,  nodding. 

"So  when  Peg  said  she  was  goin'  out,"  proceeded  Lafe, 
gravely,  "I  says,  thinkin'  of  the  things  I  wanted  to  say 


THE  COBBLER'S   SECRET  147 

to  you,  I  said  to  Peggy,  'Take  the  little  blind  chap  along 
with  you,  Peggy  dear,'  an'  without  a  word  she  put  the 
youngster  into  his  clothes  an'  away  they  went." 

Jinnie's  curiosity  was  growing  by  the  minute. 

"And  you're  going  to  tell  me  now,  Lafe?" 

"An'  now  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you,  Jinnie." 

But  he  didn't  tell  her  just  then.  Instead  he  sat  look- 
ing at  her  with  luminous  eyes,  and  the  expression  in  them 
— that  heavenly  expression — compelled  Jinnie  to  kneel  be- 
side him,  and  for  a  little  while  they  sat  in  silence. 

"Dear  child,"  Lafe  murmured,  dropping  a  tender  hand 
on  her  shining  head,  "dear,  dear  girl !" 

"It  must  be  a  joyful  thing,  Lafe,  for  your  face  shines 
as  bright  as  Bobbie's  stars." 

"I'm  blessed  happy  to-day!"  he  sighed,  with  twitching 
lips. 

Jinnie  took  his  hand  in  hers  and  smoothed  it  fondly. 

"What  is  it,  Lafe,  dear?"  she  asked. 

"Do  you  want  to  kneel  while  I  tell  you?"  queried  the 
cobbler. 

"Yes,  right  here." 

"Then  look  right  at  me,  Jinnie  lass !" 

Jinnie  was  looking  at  him  with  her  whole  soul  in  her 
eyes. 

"I'm  looking  at  you,  Lafe,"  she  said. 

"An'  don't  take  your  eyes  from  me ;  will  you  ?" 

"Sure  not !" 

It  must  be  a  great  surprise  for  Lafe  to  act  like  this, 
thought  the  girl. 

"Lassie,"  commenced  Lafe,  "I  want  you  to  be  awful 
good  to  Peggy.  .  .  .  It's  about  her  I'm  goin'  to  speak." 

Jinnie  sank  back  on  the  tips  of  her  toes. 

"What  about  Peg?    There  isn't " 

"Dear  Peggy,"  interrupted  Lafe  softly,  his  voice  quick 


148  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

with  tears,  "dear,  precious  Peggy!"  Then  as  he  bent 
over  Jinnie  and  Jinnie  bent  nearer  him,  Lafe  placed  his 
lips  to  her  ear  and  whispered  something. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet,  strange  and  unknown  emo- 
tions rising  in  her  eyes. 

"Lafe !"  she  cried.    "Lafe  dear !" 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  cobbler.  "Yes,  if  you  want  to  know 
the  truth,  the  good  God's  goin'  to  send  me  an'  Peg  another 
little  Jew  baby." 

Jinnie  sat  down  in  her  chair  quite  dazed.  Lafe's  secret 
was  much  greater  than  she  had  expected !  Much ! 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  she  pleaded. 

Keen  anxiety  erased  the  cobbler's  smiling  expression. 

"Poor  Peggy !"  he  groaned  again.  "She  can't  see  where 
the  bread's  comin'  from  to  feed  another  mouth,  but  as  I 
says,  'Peggy,  you  said  the  same  thing  when  Jinnie  came, 
an'  the  blind  child,  an'  this  little  one's  straight  from  God's 
own  tender  breast.' ' 

"That's  so,  Larc,"  accorded  Jinnie,  "and,  Oh,  dearie, 
I'll  work  so  hard,  so  awful  hard  to  get  in  more  wood,  and 
tell  me,  tell  me  when,  Lafe;  when  is  he  coming  to  us,  the 
Jew  baby?" 

Lafe  smiled  at  her  eagerness. 

"You  feel  the  same  way  as  I  do,  honey,"  he  observed. 
"The  very  same  way!  .  .  .  Why,  girlie,  when  Peg  first 
told  me  I  thought  I'd  get  up  and  fly!" 

"I  should  think  so,  but — but — I  want  to  know  how  soon, 
Lafe,  dear." 

"Oh,  it's  a  long  time,  a  whole  lot  of  weeks !" 

"I  wish  it  was  to-morrow,"  lamented  Jinnie,  disap- 
pointedly. "I  wonder  if  Peg'll  let  me  hug  and  kiss  him." 

"Sure,"  promised  Lafe,  and  they  lapsed  into  silence. 

At  length,  Jinnie  stole  to  the  kitchen.  She  returned 
with  her  violin  box  and  Milly  Ann  in  her  arms. 


THE  COBBLER'S   SECRET  149 

"Hold  the  kitty,  darling,"  she  said  softly,  placing  the 
cat  on  his  lap.  "She'll  be  happy,  too.  Milly  Ann  loves 
us  all,  Milly  Ann  does." 

Then  she  took  out  the  fiddle  and  thrummed  the  strings. 

"I'm  going  to  play  for  you,"  she  resumed,  "while  you 
think  about  Peggy  and  the — and — the  baby." 

The  cobbler  nodded  his  head,  and  wheeled  himself  a  bit 
nearer  the  window,  from  where  he  could  see  the  hill  rise 
upward  to  the  blue,  making  a  skyline  of  exquisite  beauty. 

Jinnie  began  to  play.  What  tones  she  drew  from  that 
small  brown  fiddle !  The  rapture  depicted  in  her  face  was 
but  a  reflection  of  the  cobbler's.  And  as  he  meditated  and 
listened,  Lafe  felt  that  each  tone  of  Jinnie's  fiddle  had  a 
soul  of  its  own — that  the  instrument  was  peopled  with 
angel  voices — voices  that  soothed  him  when  he  suffered 
beyond  description — voices  that  now  expressed  in  rhyth- 
mical harmony  the  peace  within  him.  Jinnie  was  able  to 
put  an  estimate  on  his  moods,  and  knew  just  what  com- 
fort he  needed  most.  Until  that  moment  £Fie  cobbler's  wife 
had  seemed  outside  the  charm  of  the  beloved  home  circle. 
But  to-day,  ah,  to-day! — Jinnie's  bow  raced  over  the 
strings  like  a  mad  thing.  To-day  Peggy  Grandoken  be- 
came in  the  girl's  eyes  a  glorified  woman,  a  woman  set 
apart  by  God  Himself  to  bring  to  the  home  a  new  baby. 

Jinnie  played  and  played  and  played,  and  Theodore  in 
spirit-fancy  stood  beside  her.  Lafe  thought  and  thought 
and  thought,  while  Peggy  walked  through  his  day  dreams 
like  some  radiant  being. 

"A  baby — my  baby,  in  the  house,"  sang  the  cobbler's 
heart. 

"A  baby,  our  baby,  in  the  house,"  poured  from  Jinnie's 
soul,  and  "Baby,  little  baby,"  sprang  from  the  fiddle  over 
and  over,  as  golden  flashes  of  the  sun  warms  the  earth. 
Truly  was  Lafe  being  revivified ;  truly  was  Jinnie !  Theo- 


150  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

dore  King !    How  infinitely  close  he  seemed  to  her !    How 
the  memory  of  his  smile  cheered  and  strengthened  her ! 

From  the  tip  of  the  fiddle  tucked  under  a  rounded  chin 
to  the  line  of  purple-black  hair,  the  blood  rushed  in  riot- 
ous confusion  over  the  fiddler's  lovely  face.  What  was  it 
in  Lafe's  story  that  had  brought  Theodore  King  so  near? 

Jinnie  couldn't  have  told,  but  she  was  sure  the  fiddle 
knew.  It  was  intoning  to  Lafe — to  her — the  language  of 
the  birds  and  the  mystery  of  the  flower  blossoms,  the  in- 
visible riddles  of  Heaven  and  earth,  of  all  the  concealed 
secrets  beyond  the  blue  of  the  sky;  all  the  panorama  of 
Nature  strung  out  in  a  wild,  sweet  forest  song.  Jinnie 
had  backed  against  the  wall  as  she  played,  and  when  out 
of  her  soul  came  the  twitter  of  the  morning  birds,  the  bab- 
bling of  the  brook  on  its  way  to  the  sea,  the  scream  of  the 
owl  in  a  high  woodland  tree,  Lafe  turned  to  watch  her, 
and  from  that  moment  until  she  dropped  exhausted  into 
a  chair,  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  her. 

"Jinnie!"  he  gasped,  as  he  thrust  forth  his  hand  and 
took  hers.  "You've  made  me  happier  to-day'n  I've  been 
in  many  a  week.  Peg'll  be  all  right.  .  .  .  Everybody'll 
be  all  right.  .  .  .  God  bless  us !" 

Jinnie  sat  up  with  bright,  inquiring  eyes. 

"Did  you  tell  Peg  I  was  to  know  about " 

"About  our  baby?"  intervened  Lafe  tenderly. 

He  dwelt  lovingly  on  those  precious  words. 

"Yes,  about  your  baby,"  repeated  Jinnie. 

"Yes,  I  told  'er,  dear.  I  said  you'd  want  to  be  happy 
too." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  sighed  Jinnie,  reverently.  "Look !  .  .  . 
Peg's  coming  now!" 

They  both  watched  Mrs.  Grandoken  as  she  stolidly 
crossed  the  tracks,  leading  Bobbie  by  the  hand. 

And  later  Jinnie  hovered  over  Peggy  in  the  kitchen. 


THE  COBBLER'S   SECRET  151 

The  woman  had  taken  on  such  a  new  dignity.  She  must 
be  treated  with  the  greatest  and  most  extra  care.  If  Jin- 
nie  had  done  what  she  craved,  she'd  have  bounded  to  Peg 
and  kissed  her  heartily.  Of  course  that  wouldn't  do,  but 
talk  to  her  she  must, 

"Peggy,"  she  said  softly,  tears  lurking  in  her  eyes. 

Peg  looked  at  her  without  moving  an  eyelash.  Jinnie 
wished  she  would  say  something ;  her  task  would  be  so  much 
easier. 

"Peggy,"  she  begged  again. 

"Huh?" 

"Lafe  told  me,  dear,"  and  then  she  did  something  she 
hadn't  done  with  Lafe;  she  began  to  cry,  just  why, 
Jinnie  didn't  know;  Peg  looked  so  sad,  so  distant,  and 
so  ill. 

It  was  probably  Jinnie's  tears  that  softened  Peg,  for 
she  put  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulders  and  stood  silent. 
After  the  first  flood  of  tears  Jinnie  ventured: 

"I'm  awful  happy,  Peggy  dear,  and  I  want  you  to  know 
I'm  going  to  work  harder'n  I  even  did  for  Blind  Bobbie. 
...  I  will,  Peg,  I  promise  I  will.  .  .  .  Kiss  me,  Oh,  kiss 
me,  dear !" 

Peggy  bent  over  and  kissed  the  upturned,  tearful  face 
solemnly.  Then  she  turned  her  back,  beginning  to  work 
vigorously,  and  Jinnie  returned  to  the  shop  with  the  kiss 
warm  on  her  cheek. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"You'D  better  make  it  a  special  prayer,  Lafe,"  said 
Jinnie,  a  little  pucker  between  her  eyes.  "Every  day  I'm 
raore'n  more  afraid  of  Maudlin." 

"I  will,  honey,  an'  just  pop  into  Bates'  cottage  an'  tell 
Maudlin's  pa  to  run  in  the  shop.  .  •  .  Go  long,  lass,  no- 
body'll  hurt  you." 

After  leaving  Lafe's  message  at  the  Bates'  cottage,  Jin- 
nie stepped  from  the  tracks  to  the  marshes  with  a  joyful 
heart.  Of  course  nothing  could  harm  her!  Lafe's  faith, 
mingled  with  her  own,  would  save  her  from  every  evil  in  the 
world. 

When  Bates  opened  the  shop  door,  the  cobbler  looked 
up  gravely.  He  nodded  his  head  to  Jasper's,  "Howdy  do, 
Grandoken  ?" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lafe. 

"Jinnie  says  you  wanted  me." 

"Yes,  a  few  minutes'  chat;  that's  all!" 

"Spit  it  out,"  said  Bates. 

Lafe  put  down  his  hammer  with  slow  importance. 

"It's  this  way,  Jasper.    Maudlin's — 

"What's  Maudie  done  now?"  demanded  Bates,  lighting 
his  pipe. 

"He's  been  botherin*  my  girl,  that's  what,"  responded 
Lafe. 

"Jinnie?" 

152 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS      153 

"Sure.  She's  all  the  girl  I  got.  .  .  .  Maudlin's  got  to 
stop  it,  Bates." 

A  cruel  expression  flitted  over  Jasper's  face. 

"I  ain't  nothin'  to  do  with  Maudlin's  love  affairs,"  said 
he.  "Jinnie  could  do  worse'n  get  him,  I'm  a  guessin' ! 
Maudie  adds  up  pretty  good,  Maudie  does !" 

Lafe  shook  his  head  with  a  grim  serenity  that  became 
the  strained  white  face. 

"His  addin'  up  ain't  nothin'  to  his  credit,  Jasper,"  he 
protested.  "He's  as  crooked  as  a  ram's  horn  an'  you 
know  it.  If  you  don't,  take  my  word  for  it !  There  ain't 
nothin'  doin'  for  him  far's  Jinnie's  concerned!  ...  I 
sent  for  you  to  bargain  with  you."  Jasper  pricked  up 
his  ears.  The  word  "bargain"  always  attracted  him. 

"Well?"  he  questioned. 

"You  keep  your  boy  from  my  girl  and  I'll  do  all  your 
family  cobblin'  for  nothin'  till  Jinnie's  a  woman." 

Bates  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  crossed  his  legs. 

"It's  a  bargain,  all  right.  Them  kids  of  mine  do  wear 
out  the  soles  of  their  shoes  some.  But,  Lafe,  I  can't  tag 
Maudlin  around  all  day." 

Lafe  took  up  his  hammer. 

"Lick  him  if  he  won't  mind  you,  Bates.  He's  got  to 
let  my  girl  be,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Saying  this,  he  started  to  work,  giving  the  shortwood 
gatherer  his  dismissal.  Bates  left  his  chair  thoughtfully. 

"I'll  talk  to  Maudie,"  said  he,  "but  he's  an  onery  kid; 
has  been  ever  since  his  mother  died.  He  don't  git  along 
with  his  stepma  very  well,  and  she's  got  such  a  lot  of  little 
kids  of  'er  own  she  ain't  time  to  train  no  hulk  of  a  boy 
like  Maudlin." 

Pausing  a  moment,  he  went  on,  "Maudlin's  been  mad- 
der'n  hell  because  that  duffer  King's  been  haulin'  Jinnie's 
wood.  He  says " 


154  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"It  ain't  any  of  Maudlin's  business  who  helps  Jinnie," 
interrupted  Lafe.  "If  you  got  any  shoes  needin'  fixin', 
tote  'em  over,  Jasper." 

Bates  left  the  shop  and  Lafe  fell  to  work  vigorously. 


Maudlin  Bates  stood  at  the  path  leading  to  the  marshes. 
He  was  waiting  for  Jinnie  to  appear  with  her  load  of  short- 
wood.  To  the  young  wood  gatherer,  a  woman  was  created 
for  man's  special  benefit,  and  a  long  time  ago  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  Jinnie  should  be  his  woman. 

He  was  leaning  against  a  tree  when  the  girl  came  in 
sight,  with  her  wood-strap  on  her  shoulders.  She  paid  no 
attention  to  him,  and  was  about  to  turn  into  Paradise 
Road  when  the  man  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Jinnie,"  he  wheedled. 

Jinnie  threw  him  a  disdainful  glance. 

"I  can't  wait.  I'm  in  a  hurry,"  she  replied,  and  she 
hoped  the  fellow  would  go  on  before  the  car  arrived. 

Young  Bates'  face  was  crossed  by  an  obstinate  expres- 
sion. 

"I'm  goin'  to  find  out,"  he  said,  gruffly,  "why  you're 
ridin'  in  rich  folks'  motor  cars." 

"Isn't  anything  to  you,"  snapped  Jinnie. 

The  wood  gatherer  came  so  close  that  he  forced  her 
back  a  step  on  the  marsh  path.  Her  disdainful  eyes  had 
drawn  him  to  her,  for,  like  all  men,  he  could  be  drawn  by 
the  woman  who  scorned  him,  and  mesmerized  by  the  sheer 
repulse.  By  great  effort,  Jinnie  had  escaped  from  Maud- 
lin's insults  for  many  months,  but  he  had  never  been  quite 
so  aggressive  as  this !  Now  she  could  see  the  dark  blood 
in  his  passionate  face  mount  even  to  the  whites  of  his 
eyes,  those  eyes  which  coveted  the  youngness  of  her  body, 
the  vitality  of  her  girl  life,  and  all  the  good  within  her. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS      155 

"Get  out  of  my  way !"  she  said  sharply.  "You  let  me 
alone.  I've  got  a  right  to  get  my  wood  hauled  if  I  can." 

"Well,  you  don't  do  it  any  more,"  said  Maudlin.  "If 
you're  too  lazy  to  carry  your  own  wood,  I'll  help  you 
myself.  .  .  .  You  can't  go  no  more  to  King's  in  his  car." 

Jinnie  turned  a  pair  of  glinting  blue  eyes  upon  him. 

"Who  said  I  couldn't?"  she  demanded.  "Uncle  Lafe 
lets  me." 

"Your  Uncle  Lafe  said  you  could  marry  me,"  said 
Maudlin  in  slow,  drawling  tones. 

Jinnie's  blood  boiled  up  behind  her  ears.  She  was  eye- 
ing him  in  bewilderment.  Maudlin's  words  made  her  more 
angry  than  she'd  ever  been  in  her  life. 

"You  lie,  you  damn  fool!"  she  cried,  and  then  caught 
her  breath  in  consternation.  It  was  the  first  oath  that 
had  escaped  her  lips  in  many  a  long  day,  and  she  felt  truly 
sorry  for  it.  She  would  tell  Lafe  of  the  provocation 
that  caused  it  and  beg  to  be  forgiven.  She  moved  back  a 
step  as  Maudlin  pinched  her. 

"I  don't  lie,"  he  growled.  "You  think  because  you  can 
scrape  on  a  fiddle  you're  better'n  other  folks.  Pa  an'  me'll 
show  you  you  ain't." 

"You  and  your  pa  don't  know  everything,"  answered 
Jinnie,  wrathfully. 

"We  know  'nough  to  see  what  King's  doin'  all  right." 

He  made  a  dive  at  the  girl  and  laid  a  rough  hand  on 
the  shortwood  strap. 

"Here !  Gimme  that  wood  if  you're  too  lazy  to  carry  it." 

Jinnie  turned  her  eyes  up  the  road.  It  was  time  Ben- 
nett came.  The  sound  of  his  motor  would  be  like  sweet 
music  in  her  ears.  She  jerked  the  strap  away  from  the 
man  and  turned  furiously  upon  him. 

"Don't  touch  me  again,  Maudlin  Bates.  ...  I  don't 
interfere  with  you.  I'll— I'll " 


156  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

But  Maudlin  paid  no  heed  to  her  insistence.  He  was 
dragging  the  strap  from  her  shoulders. 

Jinnie's  face  grew  waxen  white,  but  she  held  her  own 
for  a  few  minutes.  Maudlin  was  big  in  proportion  to  her 
slenderness,  and  in  another  instant  her  shortwood  lay  on 
the  ground,  and  she  was  standing  panting  before  him. 

"Now,  then,  just  to  show  what  kind  of  a  feller  I  be," 
said  he,  "I'm  goin'  to  kiss  you." 

Jinnie  felt  cold  chills  running  up  and  down  her  back. 

"It's  time  you  was  kissed,"  went  on  Maudlin,  "and  after 
to-day  I'm  goin'  to  be  your  man.  .  .  .  You  can  bet  on 
that." 

He  was  slowly  forcing  her  backward  along  the  narrow 
path  that  led  into  the  marshes.  Jinnie  knew  intuitively 
he  wanted  her  to  turn  and  run  into  the  underbrush  that 
he  might  have  her  alone  in  the  great  waste  place. 

Like  a  mad  creature,  she  fought  every  step  of  the  way, 
Maudlin's  anger  rising  at  each  cry  the  girl  emitted. 

"I'll  tell  my  uncle,"  she  screamed,  with  sobbing  breath. 

"You  won't  want  to  tell  'im  when  I  get  done  with  you," 
muttered  the  man.  "Why  don't  you  run?  You  c'n  run, 
can't  you?" 

Oh,  if  Bennett  would  only  come !  She  was  still  near 
enough  to  Paradise  Road  for  him  to  hear  her  calling. 

Maudlin  reached  out  his  hand  and  caught  the  long 
curls  between  his  dirty  fingers. 

"If  you  won't  run,"  he  said,  "then,  that  for  you !"  and 
he  gave  a  cruel  twist  to  the  shining  hair,  pulling  Jinnie 
almost  off  her  feet. 

Then  the  ruffian  turned,  slowly  dragging  her  foot  by 
foot  into  the  marshland.  She  opened  her  lips,  and  gave 
one  long  scream;  then  another  and  another  before  Maud- 
lin pulled  her  to  him  and  closed  her  mouth  with  a  large 
hand,  and  Jinnie  grew  faint  with  fright  and  terror. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS      157 

They  were  out  of  sight  now  of  Paradise  Road,  still  Jin- 
nie  struggled  and  struggled,  gripping  with  both  hands  at 
Bates'  fingers  jerking  at  her  curls. 

Suddenly  Lafe's  solemn  words  surged  through  her  mind. 
"He  has  given  His  angels  charge  over  thee."  Oh  God! 
Dear  God !  What  glorious,  blessed  words !  Lafe's  an- 
gels, her  angels — Jinnie's  heart  throbbed  with  faith. 
Once  Lafe  had  told  her  no  one,  no,  not  even  Maudlin 
Bates,  could  keep  her  own  from  her !  Her  honor  and  her 
very  life  were  in  the  tender  hands  of  the  cobbler's  angels. 
Suddenly  in  fancy  Jinnie  saw  the  whole  world  about  teem- 
ing with  bright  ecstatic  beings,  and  multitudes  of  them 
were  hurrying  through  the  warm  summer  air  to  the  Bell- 
aire  marshes.  They  were  coming — coming  to  help  her,  to 
save  her  from  a  fate  worse  than  death !  Her  mind  reeled 
under  the  terrible  pain  Maudlin  was  inflicting  upon  her, 
and  she  closed  her  eyes  in  agony.  With  one  mighty  effort, 
she  dragged  her  face  from  the  brown,  hard  hand  and 
screamed  at  the  top  of  her  lungs. 


Theodore  King  swung  his  car  around  into  Paradise 
Road  with  busy  thoughts.  He  had  decided  to  go  himself 
that  morning  to  bring  the  little  fidder  back  to  his  home 
with  the  shortwood.  He  had  a  plan  for  Jinnie. 

Past  the  cobbler's  shop  sped  the  big  motor,  and  as  it 
drew  up  to  the  marshes,  he  heard  a  blood-curdling  cry 
from  the  depths  of  the  underbrush.  In  another  instant  he 
was  out  on  the  ground,  dashing  along  the  path.  He  saw 
Jinnie  and  Maudlin  before  either  one  of  them  knew  he  was 
near.  He  saw  the  fellow  pulling  the  black  curls,  and  saw 
a  hand  almost  covering  the  fair  young  face. 

Then  Jinnie  saw  him,  and  sent  him  one  swift,  terrified, 
appealing  glance. 


158  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

In  the  smallest  fraction  of  a  second  Maudlin  was  sprawl- 
ing on  the  ground,  and  Theodore  was  soundly  kicking 
him.  Jinnie  sank  down  on  the  damp  moss  and  began  to 
cry  weakly.  Her  face  was  scratched  from  the  man's  fin- 
gers, her  head  aching  from  the  strenuous  pulling  of  her 
hair.  Then  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands.  God 
had  sent  an  angel — she  was  saved!  When  Mr.  King 
touched  her  gently,  she  sat  up,  wiping  away  little  streams 
of  blood  running  down  her  face  and  neck. 

"Oh,  you  came,"  she  sobbed,  raising  her  head,  "and  oh, 
I  needed  you  so !" 

Theodore  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

"I  should  say  you  did,  you  poor  child!  I  should  cer- 
tainly think  you  did." 

Then  he  turned  to  Maudlin  Bates. 

"What,  in  God's  name,  were  you  trying  to  do?" 

Maudlin,  raging  with  anger,  scrambled  from  the  ground. 

"Get  out  o'  here,"  he  hissed,  "an'  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness." 

"When  I  keep  a  bully  away  from  a  nice  little  girl,  I'm 
minding  my  business  all  right.  .  .  .  What  was  he  trying 
to  do,  Jinnie?" 

Maudlin  walked  backward  until  he  was  almost  in  the 
brush. 

"I'm  goin'  to  marry  her,"  he  said,  surlily. 

"He  isn't,"  cried  Jinnie.  "Oh,  don't  believe  him,  Mr. 
King !  He  says  Uncle  Laf e  said  he  can  marry  me,  but  he 
can't." 

Once  more  Theodore  turned  on  Maudlin,  threateningly, 
his  anger  riding  down  his  gentleness  to  Jinnie. 

"Now  get  out  of  here,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  don't  ever 
let  me  hear  of  your  even  speaking  to  this  child  again." 

The  shortwood  gatherer  stood  his  ground  until  Theo- 
dore, with  raised  fist,  was  almost  upon  him. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS      159 

"I  said  to  get  out !"  thundered  Mr.  King. 

With  a  baffled  cry,  Bates  turned,  rushed  back  into  the 
marsh,  and  for  several  seconds  they  heard  him  beating 
down  the  brushwood  as  he  ran. 

Theodore  tenderly  drew  the  girl  into  Paradise  Road. 

"I  wanted  to  see  your  uncle  to-day,"  he  explained,  with- 
out waiting  for  the  question  which  he  read  in  Jinnie's  eyes, 
"so  I  came  over  myself  instead  of  sending  Bennett.  .  .  . 
There,  child !  Don't  tremble  so !  Never  mind  the  wood." 

Jinnie  hung  back. 

"I've  got  to  sell  it  to  you  this  afternoon,"  she  mur- 
mured brokenly.  "Peg's  got  to  have  the  money." 

"We've  enough  at  home  until  to-morrow.  .  .  .  Wait 
until  to-morrow." 

Jinnie  looked  longingly  at  the  wood. 

"Somebody'll  take  it,"  she  objected,  "and  it's  awful 
hard  to  gather." 

A  grip  of  pain  stabbed  Theodore's  heart.  This  slen- 
der, beautiful  girl,  rosy  with  health  and  genius,  should 
gather  wood  no  more  for  any  one  in  the  world.  .  .  .  To 
soothe  her,  he  said : 

"I'll  come  by  and  pick  it  up  on  my  way  back.  .  .  . 
Come  along." 

He  lifted  her  into  the  car,  and  they  moved  slowly 
through  Paradise  Road,  and  drew  up  before  the  cob- 
bler's shop. 

Lafe  put  down  his  hammer  as  they  entered,  and  bade 
King  take  a  chair.  Jinnie  sat  weakly  on  the  bench  be- 
side Mr.  Grandoken.  He  took  her  hand,  and  the  loving 
pressure  brought  forth  a  storm  of  outraged  tears. 

"  'Twas  Maudlin,  Lafe,"  she  wept. 

Then  her  arms  stole  around  the  cobbler.  "The  angels 
sent  Mr.  King!  .  .  .  Lafe,  Lafe,  save  me  from  Maudlin! 
He— he " 


160  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Theodore  King  rose  to  his  feet,  his  face  paling.  Lafe, 
smoothing  Jinnie's  head  now  buri?d  in  his  breast,  lifted 
misty  eyes  to  the  young  man. 

"My  poor  baby !  My  poor  little  girl !"  he  stammered. 
"She  has  much  to  stand,  sir." 

The  other  man  took  several  nervous  turns  around  the 
shop.  Presently  he  paused  near  the  cobbler  and  coughed 
in  embarrassment. 

"I'm  interested  in  doing  something  for  your  niece,  Mr. 
Grandoken,"  said  he  lamely. 

On  hearing  this,  Jinnie  lifted  her  head,  and  Lafe  bowed. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  he. 

"I  don't  approve  of  her  going  into  the  marshes  alone  to 
gather  wood,"  continued  Mr.  King.  "She's  too  young, 
too " 

"I  don't  uther,  sir,"  interrupted  Lafe  sadly,  "but  we've 
got  to  live." 

Not  heeding  the  cobbler's  explanation,  Theodore  pro- 
ceeded deliberately. 

"She  plays  too  well  on  the  violin  not  to  have  all  the 
training  that  can  be  given  her.  Now  let  me  be  of  some 
service  until  she  is  self-supporting." 

Again  Lafe  repeated,  "Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  don't 
think  Jinnie  could  accept  money  from  any  one." 

"I  don't  see  why  not!  It's  quite  customary  when  a 
3roung  person  is  ambitious  to  receive " 

"Is  it,  sir?"  ejaculated  Lafe. 

"Indeed  yes,  and  I've  been  making  inquiries,  and  I  find 
there's  a  very  good  teacher  on  the  hill  who'll  give  her  the 
rudiments.  .  .  .  After  that,  we'll  see." 

Jinnie  was  breathing  very  fast. 

"Lessons  cost  lots  of  money,"  objected  Lafe  feebly, 
drawing  the  girl  closer. 

"I  know  that,"  interposed  Mr.  King,  "but  I  want  to 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ANGELS      161 

pay  for  them.  She  ought  to  take  one  every  day,  the 
teacher  says,  commencing  to-morrow." 

Jinnie  stood  up.  "I  couldn't  let  you  pay  for  'em,"  she 
said  quickly.  "I " 

She  sat  down  again  at  a  motion  from  Theodore. 

"Please  don't  object  until  I  have  finished,"  he  smiled 
at  her.  "It's  like  this:  If  you  study,  you'll  be  able  to 
earn  a  lot  of  money.  Then  you  can  return  every  dollar 
to  me." 

Suddenly  it  came  to  her  mind  to  tell  him  she  would  have 
all  the  money  she  needed  when  she  should  be  eighteen. 

"I'll  have "  she  began,  but  Lafe,  feeling  what  she 

was  going  to  say,  stopped  her.  It  wasn't  time  to  confide 
in  any  one  about  the  danger  hanging  over  her.  He  took 
the  matter  in  his  own  hands  with  his  usual  melancholy  dig- 
nity. 

"Jinnie'll  be  glad  to  let  you  help  her,  sir,  providin'  you 
keep  track  of  the  money  you  spend,"  he  agreed. 

The  girl  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  Suddenly  her 
indignant  sense  of  Maudlin's  abuse  faded  away,  leaving 
her  encouraged  and  warm  with  ambition. 

Theodore  took  one  more  stride  around  the  little  room. 

"Now  that's  sensible,  Mr.  Grandoken,"  he  said  con- 
tentedly. "And  before  I  go,  I  want  you  to  promise  me 
your  niece  won't  go  into  the  marshes  even  once  more.  I 
must  have  your  word  before  I  can  be  satisfied.  As  it  is 
now,  she  earns  three  dollars  a  week  bringing  me  wood. 
That  I  must  add  to  the  lesson  money " 

Lafe's  dissenting  gesture  broke  off  Mr.  King's  state- 
ment, but  he  resumed  immediately. 

"If  you're  sensitive  on  that  point,  I'll  add  it  in  with  the 
other  money.  I  think  it  wise  to  keep  our  arrangements 
to  ourselves,  though."  He  stopped,  his  face  changing. 
"And  I — I  would  like  to  make  you  more  comfortable  here." 


162  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Lafe  shook  his  head. 

"I  couldn't  take  anything  for  me  and  Peggy,"  he  an- 
nounced decidedly,  "but  Jinnie'll  give  back  all  you  let  her 
have  some  day." 

Then  Theodore  King  went  away  reluctantly. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

MOLLY'S  DISCOVERY 

PEGGY  had  given  Jinnie  a  violin  box,  and  as  the  girl 
walked  rapidly  homeward,  she  gazed  at  it  with  pride,  and 
began  to  plan  how  the  woman's  burdens  could  be  light- 
ened a  little — how  she  could  bring  a  smile  now  and  then 
to  the  sullen  face.  This  had  been  discussed  between  Lafe 
and  herself  many  times,  and  they  had  rejoiced  that  in  a 
few  months,  when  Jinnie  was  eighteen,  Mrs.  Grandoken's 
worries  would  be  lessened. 

She  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill  just  as  a  car  dashed 
around  the  lower  corner,  a  woman  at  the  wheel.  One 
glance  at  the  occupant,  and  Jinnie  recognized  Molly  Mer- 
riweather.  The  woman  smiled  sweetly  and  drove  to  the 
edge  of  the  pavement. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  greeted  Jinnie.  "Won't  you 
take  a  little  ride  with  me?  I'll  drive  you  home  after- 
wards." 

Jinnie's  heart  bounded.  As  yet  Molly  had  not  discov- 
ered her  identity,  and  the  girl,  in  spite  of  Lafe's  caution, 
wanted  to  know  all  that  had  passed  in  Mottville  after  she 
left.  She  wanted  to  hear  about  her  dead  father,  of  Matty, 
and  the  old  home.  She  gave  ready  assent  to  Molly's  invi- 
tation by  climbing  into  the  door  opened  for  her. 

"You  don't  have  to  go  home  right  away,  do  you?" 
asked  Miss  Merriweather  pleasantly. 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  acceded  Jinnie  shyly. 

163 


164  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

She  connected  Molly  the  Merry  with  all  that  was  good. 
She  remembered  the  woman's  kindly  smiles  so  long  ago  in 
Mottville,  and — that  she  was  a  friend  of  Theodore  King. 
She  was  startled,  however,  after  they  had  ridden  in  silence 
a  while,  when  the  woman  pronounced  his  name. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  King  lately?" 

Jinnie  shook  her  head. 

"I  guess  it's  three  days,"  she  answered,  low-voiced. 

Three  days !  Molly  racked  her  brain  during  the  few  sec- 
onds before  she  spoke  again  to  bring  to  mind  when  Theo- 
•dore  had  been  absent  from  home  out  of  business  hours. 

"He's  a  very  nice  man,"  she  remarked  disinterestedly. 

Jinnie's  gratitude  burst  forth  in  youthful  impetuosity. 

"He's  more'n  nice, — he's  the  best  man  in  the  world." 

"Yes,  he  is,"  murmured  Molly. 

"Theo — I  mean  Mr.  King,"  stammered  Jinnie. 

Molly  turned  so  quickly  to  look  at  the  girl's  reddening 
iace  that  the  car  almost  described  a  circle. 

"You  call  him  by  his  first  name,  then?"  she  asked,  with 
a  sharp  backward  turn  of  the  wheel. 

"No,"  denied  Jinnie,  extremely  confused.  "Oh,  no! 
•Only — only " 

"Only  what?" 

"When  I  think  of  him,  then  I  do.  Theodore's  such  a 
pretty  name,  isn't  it?" 

Molly  bit  her  lip.  Here  was  the  niece  of  a  cobbler 
who  dared  to  think  familiarly  of  a  man  in  high  social 
position.  She  had  tried  to  make  herself  believe  Theo  was 
simply  philanthropic,  but  now  the  more  closely  she  ex- 
amined the  beautiful  face  of  the  girl,  the  more  she  argued 
•with  herself,  the  greater  grew  her  fear. 

"What  does  he  call  you?"  Molly  spoke  amiably,  as  if 
discussing  these  unimportant  little  matters  for  mere 
politeness'  sake. 


MOLLY'S   DISCOVERY  165 

"Mostly  Jinnie,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I'm  just 
Jinnie  to  every  one  who  loves  me." 

She  said  this  without  thought  of  its  import.  Angrily 
Molly  sent  the  motor  spinning  along  at  a  higher  rate. 
She  was  growing  to  hate  the  little  person  at  her  side. 

"Where  are  your  own  people?"  she  demanded,  when 
they  were  on  the  road  leading  to  the  country. 

Jinnie  glanced  up.     "Dead!"  she  answered. 

"And  the  cobbler,  Mr.  Grandoken,  is  he  your  father's; 
or  mother's  brother  ?" 

Jinnie  pondered  a  moment,  undecided  how  to  answer. 

"Why,  you  see  it's  like  this " 

Molly  lessened  the  speed.  Turning  squarely  around, 
she  looked  keenly  at  the  scarlet,  lovely  face. 

"Why  are  you  blushing?"  she  queried. 

Then  like  a  flash  she  remembered.  What  a  silly  fool 
she  had  been!  Jordan  Morse  would  give  his  eyes  almost 
to  locate  this  girl. 

"I  remember  now  who  you  are,"  she  said,  taking  a. 
long  breath.  "You're  Virginia  Singleton." 

Jinnie  touched  her  arm  appealingly. 

"You  won't  tell  anybody,  will  you,  please?  Please 
don't.  .  .  .  There's  a  reason  why." 

"Tell  me  the  reason." 

"I  couldn't  now,  not  now.  But  I  have  to  live  with  Lafe 
Grandoken  quite  a  long  time  yet." 

"You  ran  away  from  your  home?" 

"Yes." 

"Your  father  died  the  same  night  you  came  away." 

"Yes,  and — please,  what  happened  after  I  left?" 

"Oh,  he  was  buried,  and  the  house  is  empty." 

Molly  forebore  to  mention  Jordan  Morse,  and  Jinnie's 
tongue  refused  to  utter  the  terrifying  name. 

Presently  the  girl,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  said  softly: 


166  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"And  Matty,  old  Matty?" 

"Who's  Matty?"  interjected  Molly. 

"The  black  woman  who  took  care  of  me.  She  lived 
with  me  for  ever  so  long." 

Molly  didn't  reply  for  some  time.     Then: 

"I  think  she  died ;  at  least  I  heard  she  did." 

A  cold  shudder  ran  over  Jinnic's  body.  Matty  then 
had  gone  to  join  those  who,  when  they  were  called,  had 
no  choice  but  to  answer.  She  leaned  against  the  soft 
cushions  moodily.  She  was  harking  back  to  other  days, 
and  Molly  permitted  her  to  remain  silent  for  some  time. 

"You  must  have  people  of  your  own  }*ou  could  live 
with,"  she  resumed  presently.  "It's  wrong  for  a  girl  with 
your  money " 

Jinnie's  lovely  mouth  set  at  the  corners. 

"I  wouldn't  leave  Lafe  and  Peggy  for  anybody  in  the 
world,  not  if  I  had  relations,  but  I  haven't." 

"I  thought — I  thought,"  began  Molly,  pretending  to 
bring  to  mind  something  she'd  forgotten.  "You  have  an 
uncle,"  she  burst  forth. 

Jinnie  grew  cold  from  head  to  foot.  Her  father's  words, 
"He  won't  find  in  you  much  of  an  obstacle,"  came  to  her 
distinctly. 

"Does  your  uncle  know  where  you  are?" 

This  question  brought  the  girl  to  the  present. 

"No.  I  don't  want  him  to  know,  either.  Not  till — 
not  till  I'm  eighteen." 

"Why?" 

Molly's  tone  was  so  cold  and  unsympathetic  Jinnie  re- 
gretted she  had  accepted  her  invitation  to  ride.  But  she 
need  not  be  afraid;  Lafe  would  keep  her  safe  from  all 
harm.  Had  she  not  tried  out  his  faith  and  the  angels' 
care  with  Maudlin  Bates?  However,  she  felt  she  owed 
some  explanation  to  the  woman  at  her  side. 


MOLLY'S   DISCOVERY  167 

"My  uncle  doesn't  like  me,"  she  stammered,  calming 
her  fear.  "And  Lafe  loves  me,  Lafe  does." 

"How  do  you  know  your  uncle  doesn't  love  you?" 

Thinking  of  Lafe's  often  repeated  caution  not  to  di- 
vulge her  father's  disclosure  of  Morse's  perfidy,  Jinnie 
remained  quiet. 

The  birds  above  their  heads  kept  up  a  shrill  chatter. 
On  ordinary  occasions  Jinnie  would  have  listened  to  mark 
down  in  her  memory  a  few  notes  to  draw  from  her  fiddle, 
but  at  this  moment  she  was  too  busy  looking  for  a  proper 
explanation.  Glancing  sidelong  at  the  woman's  face  and 
noting  the  expression  upon  it,  she  grew  cold  and  drew 
into  the  corner.  She  would  not  dare 

"I  almost  think  it's  my  duty  to  write  your  uncle,"  said 
Molly  deliberately. 

Jinnie  gasped.  She  straightened  and  put  forth  an  im- 
petuous hand. 

"Please  don't !  I  beg  you  not  to.  Some  day,  mebbe, 
some  day " 

"In  the  meantime  you're  living  with  people  who  can't 
take  care  of  you." 

"Oh,  but  they  do,  and  Mr.  King's  helping  me,"  faltered 
Jinnie.  "Why,  he'd  do  anything  for  me  he  could.  He 
loves  my  fiddle " 

"Does  he  love  you?"  asked  Molly,  her  heart  beating 
swiftly. 

"I  don't  know,  but  he's  very  good  to  me." 

Molly  with  one  hand  carefully  brushed  a  dead  leaf  from 
her  skirt. 

"Do  you  love  him?"  she  asked,  forcing  casuality  into 
her  tone. 

Did  she  love  Theodore  King?  The  question  was  flung 
at  Jinnie  so  suddenly  that  the  truth  burst  from  her  lips. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  love  him  very,  very  much " 


168  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  machine  started  forward  with  a  tremendous  jerk. 
Jinnie  gave  a  frightened  little  cry,  but  the  woman  did  not 
heed  her.  The  motor  sped  along  at  a  terrific  rate,  and 
there  just  ahead  Jinnie  spied  a  lean  barn-cat,  crossing 
the  road.  She  screamed  again  in  terror.  Still  Molly 
sped  on,  driving  the  car  straight  over  the  thin,  gaunt 
animal.  Jinnie's  heart  leapt  into  her  mouth.  All  her 
great  love  for  living  things  rose  in  stout  appeal  against 
this  ruthless  deed.  She  lifted  her  slight  body  and  sprang 
up  and  out,  striking  the  hard  ground  with  a  sickening 
thud.  She  sat  up,  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  A  short 
distance  ahead  Molly  Merriweather  was  turning  her  ma- 
chine. Jinnie  crawled  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  still 
dizzy  from  her  fall.  There,  struggling  before  her,  was 
the  object  for  which  she  had  jumped.  The  cat  was 
writhing  in  distracted  misery,  and  Jinnie  picked  him  up 
in  her  arms.  She  was  sitting  on  the  ground  when  Molly, 
very  pale,  rolled  back. 

"You  little  fool !  You  silly  little  fool !"  she  exclaimed, 
leaping  out.  "You  might  have  been  killed  doing  such  a 
thing." 

"You  ran  over  the  kitty,"  wept  Jinnie,  bowing  her  head. 

"And  what  if  I  did?  It's  only  a  cat.  Throw  it  down 
and  come  with  me  immediately." 

Jinnie  wasn't  used  to  such  sentiments.  She  got  to  her 
feet,  a  queer,  rebellious  feeling  buzzing  through  her  brain. 

"I'm  going  to  walk  home,"  she  said  brokenly,  "and  take 
the  kitty  with  me."  . 

Saying  this,  she  took  off  her  jacket  and  wrapped  it 
about  the  cat.  Molly  glared  at  her  furiously. 

"You're  the  strangest  little  dunce  I  ever  saw,"  she  cried. 
"If  you're  determined  to  take  the  little  beast,  get  in." 

Molly  was  sorry  afterward  she  had  not  let  Jinnie  have 
her  way,  for  they  had  driven  homeward  but  a  little  dis- 


MOLLY'S   DISCOVERY  169 

tance  when  she  saw  Theodore's  car  coming  toward  them. 
He  himself  was  at  the  wheel,  and  waved  good-naturedly. 
Molly  reluctantly  stopped  her  machine.  The  man  looked 
in  astonishment  from  the  girl  to  the  woman.  He  noticed 
Jinnie's  white  face  and  the  long  blue  mark  running  from 
her  forehead  to  her  chin.  Molly,  too,  wore  an  expres- 
sion which  changed  her  materially.  He  stepped  to  the 
ground  and  leaned  over  the  edge  of  their  car. 

"Something  happened?"  he  questioned,  eyeing  first  one, 
then  the  other. 

Molly  looked  down  upon  the  girl,  who  was  staring  at 
Mr.  King. 

"I — I "  began  Jinnie. 

Molly  made  a  short  explanation. 

"She  jumped  out  of  the  car,"  she  said.  "I  was  just 
telling  her  she  might  have  been  killed." 

"Jumped  out  of  the  car?"  repeated  Theodore,  aghast. 

"And  we  were  going  at  a  terrible  rate,"  Molly  went  on. 

Her  voice  was  toned  with  accusation,  and  Jinnie  saw  a 
reprimanding  expression  spread  over  the  man's  face.  She 
didn't  want  him  to  think  ill  of  her,  yet  she  was  not  sorry 
she  had  jumped.  He  was  kind  and  good;  he  would  pity 
the  hurt  thing  throbbing  against  her  breast. 

"We — we — ran  over  a  cat "  she  said  wretchedly. 

"A  barn-cat,"  cut  in  Molly. 

"And  he  was  awfully  hurt,"  interpolated  Jinnie.  "I 
couldn't  leave  him  in  the  road.  I  had  to  get  him,  didn't  I  ?" 

Theodore  King  made  a  movement  of  surprise. 

"Did  you  notice  it  in  the  road?"  he  asked  Miss  Merri- 
weather. 

The  woman  was  thoroughly  angry,  so  angry  she  could 
not  guard  her  tongue. 

"Of  course  I  saw  him,"  she  replied  haughtily,  "but  I 
wouldn't  stop  for  an  old  cat ;  I  can  tell  you  that  much." 


170  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Miss  Grandoken  looks  ill,"  Theodore  answered  slowly, 
"and  as  I  am  going  her  way,  I  think  she'd  better  come 
with  me." 

Molly  was  about  to  protest  when  two  strong  arms  were 
thrust  forth,  and  Jinnie  with  the  cat  was  lifted  out.  Be- 
fore the  girl  fully  realized  what  had  happened,  she  was 
sitting  beside  her  friend,  driving  homeward.  She  could 
hear  through  her  aching  brain  the  chug-chug  of  Molly's 
motor  following.  It  was  not  until  they  turned  into  Para- 
dise Road  that  Mr.  King  spoke  to  her.  Then  he  said 
gently : 

"It  was  a  dreadful  risk  you  took,  child." 

"I  didn't  think  about  that,"  murmured  Jinnie,  closing 
her  eyes. 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  Your  heart's  too  tender  to  let 
anything  be  abused.  ...  Is  the  cat  dead?" 

Jinnie  pulled  aside  her  jacket. 

"No,  but  he's  breathing  awful  hard.  It  hurts  him  to 
try  to  live.  I  want  to  get  home  quick  so  Peggy  can  do 
something  for  him." 

"I'll  hurry,  then,"  replied  Mr.  King,  and  when  he  saw 
Lafe's  face  in  the  window,  he  again  addressed  her: 

"You'd  better  try  to  smile  a  little,  Miss  Jinnie,  or  your 
uncle'll  be  frightened." 

Jinnie  roused  herself,  but  she  was  so  weak  when  she 
tried  to  walk  that  Theodore  picked  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  into  the  shop. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

NOBODY'S    CAT 

LAFE  uttered  a  quick  little  prayer  as  the  door  opened. 
His  glance  through  the  window  had  shown  him  Jinnie's 
pale  face  and  her  dark  head  drooping  against  Mr.  King's 
shoulder.  Theodore  smiled  as  he  entered,  which  instantly 
eased  the  fear  in  the  cobbler's  heart  and  he  waited  for  the 
other  man  to  speak. 

"Jinnie  had  a  fall,"  explained  Mr.  King,  "so  I  drove 
her  home." 

He  placed  the  girl  in  a  chair.  She  was  still  holding  the 
mangled  cat  in  her  arms. 

"Is  she  much  hurt?"  questioned  Lafe  anxiously. 

"No,  Lafe,  I'm  not  hurt  a  bit.  Miss  Merriweather 
took  me  for  a  little  ride.  I  jumped  out  to  get  this  kitty 
because  she  ran  over  'im." 

She  displayed  the  quivering  grey  tiger  cat. 

"Jumped  out  of  a  f ast-goin'  car,  honey !"  chided  Lafe. 
"That  was  some  dangerous." 

Jinnie's  eyes  were  veiled  with  wonder. 

"But  I  couldn't  let  him  stay  and  get  run  over  again, 
could  I,  Lafe?" 

"No,  darlin',  of  course  you  couldn't.  .  .  .  Are  you 
pretty  well  broke  up  ?" 

Mr.  King  explained  the  accident  as  best  he  could,  and 
after  he  departed  Mrs.  Grandoken  came  in  with  Bobbie 
clinging  to  her  skirts.  Then  the  story  was  repeated. 

171 


172  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Can't  we  do  something  for  him,  Peg?"  pleaded  Jinnie. 

Peg  knelt  down  and  examined  the  animal  as  it  lay  on 
the  floor.  She  would  not  have  admitted  for  anything 
that  she  was  disturbed  because  of  Jinnie's  fall.  She  only 
said: 

"  'Twasn't  your  fault,  miss,  that  you  ain't  almost  dead 
yourself.  .  .  .  I'll  get  a  dish  with  some  water.  .  .  .  You 
need  it  as  much  as  the  cat." 

It  was  Bobbie  who  brought  from  Peggy  a  fierce  ejacu- 
lation. He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  with 
fluttering  hands,  a  woebegone  expression  on  his  upturned 
face. 

"My  stars're  goin'  out,"  he  whimpered.  "I  want  to 
touch  my  Jinnie." 

"She  ain't  hurt  much,  kid,"  said  Peg,  hoarsely.  "Don't 
be  shakin'  like  a  leaf,  Bobbie!  You'd  think  the  girl  was 
dead." 

Jinnie  called  the  boy  to  her. 

"I'm  here,  honey,"  she  soothed  him,  "and  I'm  all  right. 
I  got  a  little  whack  on  the  ground,  that's  all.  .  .  .  There, 
don't  cry,  dearie." 

Peg  looked  down  on  them  frowningly. 

"You're  both  of  you  little  fools,"  she  muttered.  "Get 
out  of  my  way  till  I  go  to  the  kitchen,  or  I'll  kick  you  out." 

When  Mrs.  Grandoken  brought  the  water,  they  worked 
over  the  cat  for  a  long  time,  and  at  length  Peg  carried 
the  poor  little  mangled  body  to  the  kitchen,  Bobbie  fol- 
lowing her. 

Jinnie  sat  down  beside  the  cobbler  on  the  bench. 

"There's  something  I  don't  know,  Jinnie,"  he  said. 

Fully  and  freely  she  told  him  all — all  that  had  hap- 
pened that  day.  She  explained  Molly's  recognition  of 
her  and  the  terrors  of  the  afternoon's  ride. 

"She  hates  barn-cats,"  went  on  the  girl,  "and,  Lafe, 


NOBODY'S  CAT  173 

when  the  wheels  gritted  over  him,  I  flew  right  out  on  the 
ground." 

Lafe's  arms  tightened  about  her. 

"You  just  couldn't  help  it,"  he  murmured.  "God  bless 
my  little  girl !" 

"Then  Mr.  King  took  me  with  him,"  concluded  Jinnie. 

Lafe  had  his  own  view  of  Molly  the  Merry,  but  he  didn't 
tell  the  faint,  white  girl  at  his  side  that  he  thought  the 
woman  was  jealous  of  her. 

As  Jinnie  again  recounted  nervously  the  conversation 
about  her  Uncle  Jordan,  the  cobbler  said  softly : 

"It's  all  in  the  hands  of  the  angels,  pet!  No  harm'll 
come  to  you  ever." 


Jordan  Morse  answered  Miss  Merriweather's  telephone 
call. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,"  said  she  peremptorily. 

"I'll  come  right  up,"  replied  Morse. 

She  stood  on  the  porch  with  her  hands  tightly  locked 
together  when  Jordan  dashed  up  the  roadway.  She 
walked  slowly  down  the  steps. 

"What's  up?"  demanded  Morse. 

Molly  glanced  backward  at  the  quiet  home.  Theodore's 
mother  was  taking  her  afternoon  siesta,  and  no  one  else 
was  about.  She  slipped  her  hand  into  Morse's  arm  and 
led  him  under  the  trees. 

"Let's  go  to  the  summer  house,"  she  urged. 

Once  seated,  Morse  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"You're  ill,"  he  said,  noting  her  distorted  face. 

"No,  only  furious.  .  .  .     I've  made  a  discovery." 

"Anything  of  value?" 

"Yes,  to  you — and  to  me." 

Morse  bent  a  keen  glance  upon  her. 


174  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Well?"  was  all  he  said. 

"I  know  where  your  niece,  Virginia  Singleton,  is." 

She  said  this  deliberately,  realizing  the  while  the  worth 
of  her  words. 

Morse  got  to  his  feet  unsteadily. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  returned. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't,  but  I  do  just  the  same." 

"Where?" 

"In  this  town." 

"No!" 

"Yes." 

Morse  dropped  back  on  the  seat  once  more. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  play  with  me.  Why  don't 
you " 

"I'm  going  to!     Keep  still,  can't  you?" 

"You're  torturing  me,"  muttered  the  man,  mopping  his 
brow. 

"She's — she's  Jinnie  Grandoken — the  girl  who  played 
at  Theo's  party." 

"Good  God!"  and  then  through  the  silence  came  an- 
other muttered,  "Great  merciful  God!" 

Molly  allowed  him  to  regain  his  self-control. 

"I  told  you  that  night,  Jordan,  I  thought  I  remembered 
her,"  she  then  said.  "To-day  I  found  out  it  was  she." 

"Tell  me  all  you  know,"  ordered  Morse,  with  darkening 
brow. 

Molly  openly  admitted  her  jealousy  of  Jinnie.  She 
had  no  shame  because,  long  before,  she  had  told  her  hus- 
band of  her  absorbing  passion  for  Theodore  King. 

"I  discovered  it  purely  by  accident,"  she  went  on,  re- 
lating the  story. 

Morse  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"Now  what're  you  going  to  do  ?"  demanded  Molly  pres- 
ently. 


NOBODY'S  CAT  175 

Jordan  threw  away  his  cigar  and  thrust  his  hands  deep 
into  his  pockets,  stretching  out  a  pair  of  long  legs. 
There  he  sat  considering  the  tips  of  his  boots  in  silence. 

"I've  got  to  think,  and  think  quick,"  he  broke  out  sud- 
denly. "My  God!  I  might  have  known  she  didn't  be- 
long in  that  cobbler's  shop.  .  .  .  I'll  go  now.  .  .  .  Don't 
mention  this  to  Theo." 

As  he  was  leaving,  he  said  with  curling  lip : 

"I  guess  now  you  know  my  prospects  you  won't  be  so 
stingy.  I'll  have  to  have  money  to  carry  this  through." 

"All  right,"  said  Molly. 

When  she  was  alone,  Molly's  anger  decreased.  She 
had  an  ally  now  worth  having.  She  smiled  delicately  as 
she  passed  up  the  stairs  to  her  room,  and  the  smile  was 
brought  to  her  lips  because  she  remembered  having  begged 
Jordan  to  help  her  in  this  matter  several  times  before. 

Then  he  had  had  no  incentive,  but  to-day Ah,  now  he 

would  give  her  a  divorce  quietly!  The  social  world  in 
which  she  hoped  to  move  would  know  nothing  of  her 
youthful  indiscretion. 


That  night  Jinnie  and  Peg  were  bending  anxiously  over 
a  basket  near  the  kitchen  stove.  All  that  human  hands 
and  hearts  could  do  had  been  done  for  the  suffering  barn- 
cat.  He  had  given  no-  sign  of  consciousness,  his  breath 
coming  and  going  in  long,  deep  gasps. 

"He'll  die,  won't  he,  Peg?"  asked  Jinnie,  sorrowfully. 

"Yes,  sure.  An'  it'll  be  better  for  the  beast,  too."  Peg 
said  this  tempestuously. 

"I'd  like  to  have  him  live,"  replied  Jinnie.  "Milly  Ann 
mightn't  love  him,  but  she  got  used  to  Happy  Pete,  didn't 
she?" 


176  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"This  feller,"  assured  Peggy,  wagging  her  head,  "won't 
get  used  to  anything  more  on  this  earth." 

"Poor  kitty,"  mourned  Jinnie. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  beautiful  world,  the  trees  and 
the  flowers,  and  the  wonderful  songs  of  nature  amidst 
which  the  dying  animal  had  existed. 

"I  hope  he'll  go  to  some  nice  place,"  she  observed  sadly, 
walking  away  from  Mrs.  Grandoken. 

Later,  after  cogitating  deeply,  Jinnie  expressed  herself 
to  the  cobbler. 

"Lafe,  Lafe  dear,"  she  said,  "it's  all  true  you  told  me, 
ain't  it?  ...  All  about  the  angels  and  God?  .  .  .  The 
poor  kitty's  suffering  awful.  He's  got  the  Christ  too, 
hasn't  he,  Lafe?" 

The  man  looked  into  the  agonized  young  face. 

"Yes,  child,"  he  replied  reverently,  "he's  got  the  Christ 
too,  same's  you  an'  me.  God's  in  everything.  He  loves 
'em  all." 

That  night  the  girl  sat  unusually  long  with  paper  and 
pencil.  Just  before  going  to  bed  she  placed  a  paper  on 
the  cobbler's  knee. 

"I  wrote  that  hurt  kitty  some  poetry,"  she  said  shyly. 

Lafe  settled  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  picked  up  the 
sheet,  and  read: 

"I'm  nobody's  cat  and  I've  been  here  so  long, 

In  this  world  of  sorrow  and  pain, 
I've  no  father  nor  mother  nor  home  in  this  place, 
And  must  always  stay  out  in  the  rain. 

"Hot  dish  water,  stones  at  me  have  been  thrown. 

And  one  of  my  hind  legs  is  lame; 
No  wonder  I  run  when  I  know  the  boys 
Come  to  see  if  I'm  tame. 


NOBODY'S  CAT  177 

"I've  a  friend  in  the  country,  and  he's  nobody's  dog, 

And  his  burdens're  heavy  as  mine, 
He  told  me  one  day  the  boys  had  once  tied 
A  tin  can  to  his  tail  with  a  line. 

"Now  they  talk  in  the  churches  of  God  and  his  Son, 

Of  Paradise,  Heaven  and  Hell; 
Of  a  Savior  who  came  on  earth  for  mankind, 
And  for  His  children  all  should  be  well. 

"Now  I'd  like  to  know  if  God  didn't  make  me, 

And  cause  me  to  live  and  all  that? 
I  believe  there's  a  place  for  nobody's  child, 
And  also  for  nobody's  cat." 

Mr.  Grandoken  lifted  misty  eyes. 

"It's  fine,"  he  said,  "an5  every  word  true !  .  .  .  Every 
single  word." 

The  next  morning  Jinnie  went  to  the  basket  behind  the 
stove.  The  cat  was  dead, — dead,  in  the  same  position  in 
which  she  had  left  him  the  night  before,  and  close  to  his 
nose  was  the  meat  Peggy  had  tried  to  entice  him  to  eat. 
She  lifted  the  basket  and  carried  it  into  the  shop. 

"Poor  little  feller,"  said  Lafe.  "I  'spose  you'll  have  to 
bury  him,  lass." 

Bobbie  edged  forward,  and  felt  for  Jinnie's  fingers. 

"Bury  him  on  the  hill,  dearie,  where  you  found  me,"  he 
whispered.  "It's  lovely  there,  and  he  can  see  my  stars." 

"All  right,"  replied  Jinnie,  dropping  her  hand  on  the 
boy's  golden  head. 

That  afternoon,  just  before  the  funeral,  Jinnie  stood 
quietly  in  front  of  the  cobbler. 

"Lafe,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  appealingly,  "the 
kitty's  happy  even  if  he  is  dead,  isn't  he?" 


178  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Sure,"  replied  Lafe.  "His  angels've  got  charge  of  him, 
all  right." 

"I  was  wondering  something,"  ventured  the  girl, 
thoughtfully.  "Couldn't  we  take  him  in  the  'Happy  in 
Spite'?  ...  Eh,  Lafe?" 

Lake  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"I  never  thought  of  takin'  anything  dead  in  the  club," 
said  he  dubiously. 

"But  he's  happy,  you  said,  Lafe  ?" 

"He's  happy  enough,  yes,  sure !" 

"Then  let's  take  him  in,"  repeated  Jinnie  eagerly. 

"Let's  take  'im  in,  cobbler,"  breathed  Bobbie,  pressing 
forward.  "He  wants  to  come  in." 

They  lifted  the  cover  of  the  basket,  and  there  in  quietude 
the  barn-cat  was  sleeping  his  long  last  sleep. 

Jinnie  lifted  one  of  the  stiff  little  paws,  and  placed  it 
in  Lafe's  fingers.  The  cobbler  shook  it  tenderly. 

"You're  in  the  club,  sir,"  said  he  in  a  thick,  choked 
voice.  Then  Jinnie  and  Bobbie,  carrying  their  precious 
dead  comrade,  started  for  the  hill. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

"HE   MIGHT   EVEN   MAKEY    HEB," 

"I  DON'T  see  why  you  must  have  her  out  of  the  way  en- 
tirely," hesitated  Molly  Merriweather,  looking  up  into 
Jordan  Morse's  face.  "Couldn't  you  send  her  to  some 
girls'  place?" 

"Now  you  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Molly,"  an- 
swered the  man  impatiently.  "If  she  doesn't  disappear 
absolutely,  the  cobbler  and  Theodore'll  find  her." 

"That's  so,"  said  Molly,  meditatively,  "but  it  seems 
horrible " 

Morse  interrupted  her  with  a  sarcastic  laugh. 

"That's  what  Theodore  would  think,  and  more,  too,  if 
he  thought  any  one  was  going  to  harm  a  hair  of  the  child's 
head." 

Molly  flamed  red. 

"To  save  her,  he  might  even  marry  her,"  Morse  went 
on  relentlessly. 

Molly  gestured  negatively. 

"He  wouldn't.  He  couldn't!"  she  cried  stormily.  She 
had  never  permitted  herself  to  face  such  a  catastrophe 
save  when  she  was  angry. 

Jordan  Morse  contemplated  his  wife  a  short  space  of 
time. 

"I  can't  understand  your  falling  in  love  with  a  man 
who  hasn't  breathed  a  word  of  affection  for  you,"  he  said 
tentatively. 

179 


180  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Molly  showed  him  an  angry  face. 

"You're  not  a  woman,  so  you  can't  judge,"  she  replied. 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  retorted  Morse. 

"We  wouldn't  have  had  any  of  this  trouble,"  he  con- 
tinued, at  length,  "if  you'd  let  me  know  about  the  boy. 
There's  no  excuse  for  you,  absolutely  none.  You  know 
very  well  I  would  have  come  back." 

All  the  softness  in  the  woman  turned  to  hardness. 

"How  many  times,"  she  flamed,  "must  I  tell  you  I  was 
too  angry  to  write  or  beg  you  to  come,  Jordan  ?  .  .  .  I've 
told  you  over  and  over." 

"And  with  all  you  say,  I  can't  understand  it.  Are 
you  going  to  impart  your  precious  past  to  Theodore  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Molly,  setting  her  lips. 

Presently  Morse  laughed  provokingly. 

"How  you  women  do  count  your  chickens  before  they're 
hatched!  Where  did  you  get  the  idea  Theodore  was  go- 
ing to  ask  you  to  marry  him?" 

"I'll  make  him,"  breathed  Molly,  with  confidence. 

"Well,  go  ahead,"  bantered  Morse.  "All  I  ask  for  re- 
leasing you  is  that  you'll  help  me  rid  myself  of  my  beau- 
tiful niece,  Virginia,  at  the  same  time  ridding  yourself, 
my  lady,  and  give  me  my  boy  when  we  find  him." 

His  tones  in  the  first  part  of  the  speech  were  mocking, 
but  Molly  noted  when  he  said  "boy"  his  voice  softened. 
She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  What  a  strange  mixture 
of  good  and  evil  he  was !  When  he  got  up  to  leave,  she 
was  not  sorry.  She  watched  him  stride  away  with  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief. 

She  was  still  sitting  in  the  summer  house  when  Theodore 
King  swung  his  motor  through  the  gate  and  drew  up 
before  the  porch.  He  jumped  out,  wiped  his  face,  saw 
Molly,  and  smiled. 

"Well,  it's  cool  here,"  he  said,  walking  toward  her. 


"Yes,"  said  Molly.     "Come  and  sit  down  a  minute." 

Theodore  looked  doubtfully  at  the  house. 

"I  really  ought  to  do  some  writing,  but  I'll  sit  a  while 
if  you  like.  I  passed  Jordan  on  the  way  home." 

Molly  nodded,  and  Theodore  quizzed  her  with  laughing 
eyes. 

"Isn't  he  coming  pretty  often?"  he  asked.  "Jordan's 
got  prospects,  Molly !  If  his  niece  isn't  found,  you  know, 
he'll  have  a  fortune.  .  .  .  Better  set  your  cap  for  him." 

Molly  blushed  under  his  words,  trying  not  to  show  her 
resentment.  Was  Theodore  a  perfect  fool?  Couldn't  he 
see  she  desired  no  one  but  himself,  and  him  alone?" 

"Jordan  doesn't  care  for  me  that  way,"  she  observed 
with  dignity,  "and  I  don't  care  for  him." 

Theodore  flicked  an  ash  from  his  cigar. 

"I  think  you're  mistaken,  Molly — I  mean  as  far  as  he 
is  concerned." 

"I'm  not !  Of  course,  I'm  not !  Oh,  Theodore,  I've  been 
wanting  to  ask  you  something  for  a  long  time.  I  do  want 
to  go  back  home  for  a  day.  .  .  .  Would  you  take  me?" 

Theodore  eyed  her  through  wreaths  of  blue  smoke. 

"Well,  I  might,"  he  hesitated,  "but  hadn't  you  better 
ask  Jordan  ?  I'm  afraid  he  wouldn't  like  me " 

Molly  got  up  so  quickly  that  Theodore,  surprised,  got 
up  too. 

"I  don't  want  Jordan,  and  I  do  want  you,"  she  said 
emphatically.  "Of  course  if  you  don't  care  to  go " 

"On  the  contrary,"  interrupted  Theodore,  good-natur- 
edly, "I  would  really  like  it.  ...  Yes,  I'll  go  all  right. 
...  I  have  a  reason  for  going." 

Molly's  whole  demeanor  changed.  She  gave  a  musical 
laugh.  He  could  have  but  one  reason,  and  she  felt  she 
knew  that  reason!  What  a  handsome  dear  he  was,  and 
how  she  loved  the  whole  bigness  of  him ! 


182  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

As  she  turned  to  walk  away,  Theodore  fell  in  at  her 
side,  suiting  his  steps  to  hers, 

"Mind  you,  Molly,  any  day  you  say  but  Saturday." 

"Why  not  Saturday?"  asked  Molly,  pouting.  "I  might 
want  you  then !" 

Unsuspecting,  Mr.  King  explained. 

"The  fact  is,  Saturday  I've  planned  to  go  on  the  hill. 
You  remember  Grandoken's  niece?  I  want  to  find  out 
how  she's  progressing  in  her  music." 

If  Theodore  had  been  watching  Molly's  face,  he  would 
have  noted  how  its  expression  changed  darkly.  But, 
humming  a  tune,  he  went  into  the  house  unconcernedly, 
and  Molly  recognized  the  rhythm  as  one  Jinnie  had  played 
that  night  long  ago  with  Peg  Grandoken's  lace  curtains 
draped  about  her. 

Jinnie's  youth,  her  bright  blue  eyes,  her  wonderful 
talent,  Molly  hated,  and  hated  cordially.  Then  she  de- 
cided Theodore  should  go  with  her  Saturday. 

That  evening  when  Jordan  Morse  came  in,  Molly  told 
him  she  would  help  him  in  any  scheme  to  get  Jinnie  away 
from  Bellaire. 

"You're  beginning  to  understand  he  likes  her  pretty 
much,  eh?"  asked  the  man  rudely. 

Molly  wouldn't  admit  this,  but  she  replied  simply : 

"I  don't  want  her  around.  That's  all!  As  long  as 
she's  in  Bellaire,  the  Kings'll  always  have  her  here  with 
her  fiddle." 

"Some  fiddle,"  monotoned  Jordan. 

"It's  the  violin  that  attracts  Theodore,"  hesitated 
Molly. 

"And  her  blue  eyes,"  interrupted  Jordan,  smiling 
widely. 

"Her  talent,  you  mean,"  corrected  Molly. 

"And  her  curls,"  laughed  Morse.    "I  swear  if  she  wasn't 


HE  MIGHT  EVEN  MARRY  HER      183 

a  relation  of  mine  I'd  marry  the  kid  myself.  She's  a 
beauty !  .  .  .  She's  got  you  skinned  to  death." 

"You  needn't  be  insulting,  Jordan,"  admonished  Molly, 
flushing. 

"It's  the  truth,  though.  That's  where  the  rub  comes. 
You  can't  wool  me,  Molly.  If  she  were  hideous,  you 
wouldn't  worry  at  all.  .  .  .  Why,  I  know  seven  or  eight 
girls  right  here  in  Bellaire  who'd  give  their  eye  teeth  and 
wear  store  ones  to  get  Theodore  to  look  at  'em  cross- 
eyed. .  .  .  Lord,  what  fools  women  are !" 

Molly  left  him  angrily,  and  Morse,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, strolled  on  through  the  trees.  Not  far  from  the 
house  he  met  Theodore,  and  they  wandered  on  together, 
smoking  in  silence.  Morse  suddenly  developed  an  idea. 
Why  shouldn't  he  sound  King  about  Jinnie  ?  Accordingly, 
he  began  with: 

"That's  a  wonderful  girl,  Grandoken's  niece." 

This  topic  was  one  Theodore  loved  to  speak  of,  to  dream 
so,  so  he  said  impetuously: 

"She  is  indeed.  I  only  wish  I  could  get  her  away  from 
Paradise  Road." 

Morse  turned  curious  eyes  on  his  friend. 

"Why?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  it's  any  place  for  an  impressionable 
young  girl  like  her." 

"She's  living  with  Jews,  too,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes,  but  good  people,"  Theodore  replied.  "I  want 
her  to  go  away  to  school.  I'd  be  willing  to  pay  her  ex- 
penses  " 

Morse  flung  around  upon  him. 

"Send  her  away  to  school?     You?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  piece  of 
charity  work?  She's  the  most  talented  girl  I  ever  saw." 

"And  the  prettiest,"  Jordan  cut  in. 


184  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"By  far  the  prettiest,"  answered  King  without  hesi- 
tation. 

His  voice  was  full  of  feeling,  and  Jordan  Morse  needed 
no  more  to  tell  him  plainly  that  Theodore  loved  Jinnie 
Grandoken.  A  sudden  chill  clutched  at  his  heart.  If 
King  ever  took  Jinnie  under  his  protection,  his  own  plans 
would  count  for  nothing.  He  went  home  that  night  dis- 
gusted with  himself  for  having  stayed  away  from  his  home 
country  so  long,  angry  that  Molly  had  not  told  him  about 
the  baby,  and  more  than  angry  with  Theodore  King. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

WHEN   THEODORE   FORGOT 

FOR  the  next  few  days  Jordan  Morse  turned  over  in  his 
mind  numerous  plans  to  remove  Jinnie  from  Grandoken's 
home,  but  none  seemed  feasible.  As  long  as  Lafe  knew 
his  past  and  stood  like  a  rock  beside  the  girl,  as  long  as 
Theodore  King  was  interested  in  her,  he  himself  was  pow- 
erless to  do  anything.  How  to  get  both  the  cobbler  and 
his  niece  out  of  the  way  was  a  problem  which  continually 
worried  him. 

He  mentioned  his  anxiety  to  Molly,  asking  her  if  by  any 
means  she  could  help  him. 

"I  did  tell  her  I'd  write  to  you,"  said  Molly. 

Morse's  face  fell. 

"She's  a  stubborn  little  piece,"  he  declared  presently. 
"Theo's  in  love  with  her  all  right." 

"You  don't  really  mean  that!"  stammered  Molly,  her 
heart  thumping. 

"Perhaps  not  very  seriously,  but  such  deep  interest  as 
his  must  come  from  something  more  than  just  the  girl's 
talent.  He  spoke  about  sending  her  away  to  school." 

"He  shan't,"  cried  Molly,  infuriated. 

Morse's  rehearsal  of  Theodore's  suggestion  was  like 
goads  in  her  soul. 

"If  she'd  go,"  went  on  the  man,  "nothing  you  or  I  could 
do  would  stop  him.  The  only  way " 

Molly  whirled  upon  him  abruptly. 

185 


186  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I'll  help  you,  Jordan,  I  will.  .  .  .  Anything,  any 
way  to  keep  him  from  her." 

They  were  both  startled  and  confused  when  Theodore 
came  upon  them  suddenly  with  his  swinging  stride,  but 
before  Morse  went  home,  he  whispered  to  Molly : 

"I've  thought  of  something — tell  you  to-morrow." 

That  night  Molly  scarcely  slept.  The  vision  of  a  black- 
haired  girl  in  the  arms  of  Theodore  King  haunted  her 
through  her  restless  dreams,  and  the  agony  was  so  intense 
that  before  the  dawn  broke  over  the  hill  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  help  her  husband,  even  to  the  point  of  putting 
Jinnie  out  of  existence. 

That  morning  Morse  approached  her  with  this  com- 
mand : 

"You  try  to  get  Jinnie  to  go  with  you  to  Mottville. 
You  wouldn't  have  to  stay  but  a  day  or  so.  There  your 
responsibilities  would  end.  .  .  .  I'll  be  there  at  the  same 
time.  .  .  .  Will  you  do  it,  Molly?" 

"Yes,"  said  Molly,  and  her  heart  began  to  sing  and  her 
eyes  to  shine.  Her  manner  to  Jordan  as  he  left  was  more 
cordial  than  since  his  return  from  Europe. 

At  noon  time,  when  Theodore  King  saw  her  walking, 
sweetly  cool,  under  the  trees,  he  joined  her.  Molly  had 
donned  the  dress  he  had  complimented  most,  and  as  he  ap- 
proached her,  she  lifted  a  shy  gaze  to  his. 

"You  couldn't  take  me  to-morrow,  you're  sure?"  she 
begged,  her  voice  low,  deep  and  appealingly  resonant. 

Theodore  hesitated..  Being  naturally  chivalrous  and 
kindly,  he  disliked  to  refuse,  but  he  had  already  sent  a  note 
to  Jinnie  to  meet  him  at  the  master's  Saturday,  and  it 
went  against  his  inclination  to  break  that  appointment. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can,"  he  replied  thoughtfully,  "but 
choose  any  day  next  week,  and  we'll  make  a  real  picnic 
of  it." 


WHEN  THEODORE  FORGOT      187 

"I'm  so  disappointed,"  Molly  murmured  sadly.  "I 
wanted  to  go  Saturday.  But  of  course " 

"I'll  see  if  I  can  arrange  it,"  he  assured  her.  "Possibly 
I  might  go  up  to  hear  her  play  to-day.  .  .  .  I'll  see.  .  .  . 
Later  I'll  'phone  you." 

Leaving  the  house,  he  headed  his  car  toward  the  lower 
end  of  the  town.  He  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  go  to  Para- 
dise Road.  Lafe  smiled  through  the  window  at  him,  and 
he  entered  the  shop  at  the  cobbler's  cordial,  "Come  in !" 

"I  suppose  you  want  Jinnie,  eh?"  asked  Lafe. 

"Yes.    I'll  detain  her  only  a  moment." 

Bobbie  got  up  from  the  floor  where  he  was  playing  sol- 
diers with  tacks  and  nails. 

"Boy'll  call  Jinnie,"  said  he,  moving  forward. 

The  two  men  watched  the  slender  blind  child  feel  his 
way  to  the  door. 

"Bobbie  loves  to  take  a  part  in  things,"  explained  Lafe. 
"Poor  little  fellow!" 

"Is  he  hopelessly  blind?"  asked  Theodore. 

"Yes,  yes,"  and  Lafe  sighed.  "I  sent  him  once  by  Peg 
to  ask  a  big  eye  specialist.  He's  a  good  little  shaver,  but 
his  heart's  awful  weak.  You  wouldn't  think  he's  almost 
eleven,  would  you?" 

Theodore  shook  his  head,  shocked. 

"It  isn't  possible !"  he  exclaimed. 

"He  ain't  growed  much  since  he  come  here  over  two 
years  ago.  Jinnie  can  carry  him  in  one  arm." 

"Poor  child !"  said  Theodore  sympathetically. 

Just  then  Jinnie  came  into  the  room  shyly.  Bobbie  had 
excitedly  whispered  to  her  that  "the  beautiful  big  man 
with  the  nice  hands"  wanted  her.  She  hesitated  at  the 
sight  of  Mr.  King,  but  advanced  as  Lafe  held  out  his  hand 
to  her. 

Before  Theodore  could  explain,  she  had  told  him: 


188  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"The  master  isn't  giving  me  a  lesson  to-day,  but  he  will 
to-morrow  because  you're  coming." 

With  pride  in  her  voice,  she  said  it  radiantly,  the  color 
mantling  high  in  her  cheeks.  Molly's  importunate  insist- 
ence escaped  Theodore's  mind.  When  with  Jinnie,  ordi- 
nary matters  generally  did  fade  away. 

"I'm  very  glad,"  he  replied.  "I  hope  you've  progressed 
a  lot." 

"She  has,  sir,  she  sure  has,"  Lafe  put  in.  "You'll  be 
surprised!  How  long  since  you've  heard  her  play?" 

"A  long  time,"  answered  Theodore,  and  still  forgetting 
Molly,  he  went  on,  "I  wonder  if  you'd  like  to  come  to  the 
house  to-morrow  to  dinner  and  play  for  us.  My  mother 
was  speaking  about  how  much  she'd  enjoy  it  only  a  short 
time  ago." 

Jinnie's  eyes  sparkled. 

"I  should  love  to  come,"  she  answered  gladly. 

He  rose  to  go,  taking  her  hand. 

"Then  I'll  send  the  car  for  you,"  he  promised  her. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  office  desk  when  Molly  the  Merry 
once  more  came  into  his  mind.  An  ejaculation  escaped 
his  lips,  and  he  made  a  wry  face.  Then,  in  comparison, 
Jinnie,  with  all  her  sparkling  youth,  rose  triumphant  be- 
fore him.  He  loved  the  child,  for  a  child  she  still  seemed 
to  him.  To  tell  her  now  of  his  affection  might  harm  her 
work.  He  would  wait !  She  was  so  young,  so  very  young. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  thinking  and  dreaming  of  the 
future,  and  into  the  quiet  of  his  office  he  brought,  in  bril- 
liant vision,  a  radiant,  raven-haired  woman — his  ideal— 
his  Jinnie.  Suddenly  again  he  remembered  his  promise  to 
Molly  and  slowly  took  down  the  telephone.  Then  delib- 
erately he  replaced  it.  It  would  be  easier  to  explain  the 
circumstances  face  to  face  with  her,  and  no  doubt  en- 
his  mind  but  that  the  woman  would  be  satisfied  and 


WHEN  THEODORE  FORGOT      189 

very  glad  that  Jinnie  was  coming  with  her  violin  to  play 
for  them.  Molly  wouldn't  mind  postponing  her  trip  for  a 
few  days. 

Molly  was  reclining  as  usual  in  the  hammock  with  a 
book  in  her  hand  when  he  ran  up  the  steps. 

"Molly,"  he  began,  going  to  her  quickly,  "I  want  to  con- 
fess." 

"Confess?"  she  repeated,  sitting  up. 

"Yes,  it's  this  way:  When  I  went  out  this  morning  I 
felt  sure  I  could  arrange  about  to-morrow.  .  .  .  But 
what  do  you  think?" 

Miss  Merriweather  put  down  the  book,  stood  up,  her 
hand  over  her  heart. 

"I  can't  guess,"  she  breathed. 

"Well,  I  went  to  Grandoken's " 

"You  could  have  sent  a  note,"  Molly  cut  in. 

Theodore  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"I  could,  but  I  didn't.  I  wanted  Jinnie  to  under- 
stand  " 

His  voice  vibrated  deeply  when  he  spoke  that  name,  and 
the  listener's  love-laden  ears  caught  the  change  imme- 
diately. 

"Well  ?"  she  murmured  in  question. 

"When  I  got  there  and  saw  her,  I  forgot  about  Satur- 
day. Before  I  had  a  chance,  she  told  me  she  wasn't  going 
to  the  master's  to-day.  Then  without  another 
thought " 

"Well?"  interviewed  Molly  with  widening  eyes. 

"Pardon  me,  Molly,"  Theodore  said  tactlessly,  "for  for- 
getting you — you  will,  won't  you?  I  asked  her  to  play 
here  to-morrow  night." 

Molly  felt  the  structure  of  her  whole  world  tumbling 
down  about  her  ears.  He  had  forgotten  her  for  that 
girl,  that  jade  in  Paradise  Road,  the  girl  who  stood  be- 


190  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

tween  her  and  all  her  hopes.  She  took  one  step  forwaro! 
and  forgot  her  dignity,  forgot  everything  but  his  stinging 
insult. 

"How  dared  you?"  she  uttered  hoarsely.  Her  voice 
grew  thin  as  it  raised  to  the  point  of  a  question. 

"Dare !"  echoed  Theodore,  his  expression  changing. 

Molly  went  nearer  him  with  angry,  sparkling  eyes. 

"Yes,  how  dared  you  ask  that  girl  to  come  here  when  I 
dislike  her?  You  know  how  I  hate  her " 

Mr.  King  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  grass,  gravity  set- 
tling on  his  countenance. 

"I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  you  disliked  her,"  he  said. 

Molly  eagerly  advanced  into  the  space  between  them. 

"She  is  trying  to  gain  some  sort  of  influence  over  you, 
Theo,  just  the  same  as  she  got  over  that  Jewish  cobbler." 

Theodore  King  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  reddening, 
beautiful  face.  Surely  he  had  not  heard  aright.  Had  she 
really  made  vile  charges  against  the  girl?  To  implicate 
Jinnie  with  a  thought  of  conspiracy  brought  hot  blood 
about  his  temples.  He  wouldn't  stand  that  even  from  an 
old-time  friend.  Of  course  he  liked  Molly  very  much,  yes, 
very  much  indeed,  but  this  new  antagonistic  spirit  in 
her 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Molly?"  he  demanded  ab- 
ruptly. "You  haven't  any  reason  to  speak  of  the  child 
that  way." 

"The  child !"  sneered  Molly.  "Why,  she's  a  little  river 
rat — a  bold,  nasty — '• — " 

Theodore  King  raised  his  great  shoulders,  throwing 
back  his  closely  cropped  head.  Then  fee  sprang  to  refute 
the  terrible  aspersion  against  the  girl  he  loved. 

"Stop !"  he  commanded  in  a  harsh  voice,  leaning  over 
the  panting  woman.  "And  now  I'll  ask  you  how  you 
dare?"  he  finished. 


WHEN  THEODORE  FORGOT      191 

Molly  answered  him  bravely,  catching  her  breath  in  a 
sob. 

"I  dare  because  I'm  a  woman.  ...  I  dare  because  I 
know  what  she's  doing.  If  she  hadn't  played  her  cards 
well,  you'd  never've  paid  any  attention  to  her  at  all.  .  .  . 
No  one  can  make  me  believe  you  would  have  been  inter- 
ested in  a — in  a " 

The  man  literally  whirled  from  the  porch,  bounded  into 
the  motor,  turned  the  wheel,  and  shot  rapidly  away. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

MOLLY  ASKS  TO  BE  FORGIVEN 

ALL  the  evening  Molly  waited  in  despair.  She  dared 
not  appear  at  dinner  and  arose  the  next  morning  after  a 
sleepless  night.  For  two  or  three  hours  she  hovered  about 
the  telephone,  hoping  for  word  from  Theodore.  He  would 
certainly  'phone  her.  He  would  tell  her  he  was  sorry 
for  the  way  he  had  left  her,  for  the  way  he  had  spoken  to 
her.  Even  his  mother  noticed  her  pale  face  and  extreme 
nervousness. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  King,  solicitously. 

"Nothing,  nothing — much,"  answered  Molly  evasively. 

Mrs.  King  hesitated  before  she  ventured,  "I  thought  I 
heard  you  and  Theo  talking  excitedly  last  night.  Molly, 
you  musn't  quarrel  with  him.  .  .  .  You  know  the  wish 
of  my  heart.  ...  I  need  you,  child,  and  so  does  he." 

Miss  Merriweather  knelt  beside  the  gentle  woman. 

"He  doesn't  care  for  me,  dear !"  she  whispered. 

For  an  instant  she  was  impelled  to  speak  of  Jinnie,  but 
realizing  what  a  tremendous  influence  Theodore  had  over 
his  mother,  she  dared  not.  Like  her  handsome  son,  Mrs. 
King  worshipped  genius,  and  Molly  reluctantly  admitted 
to  herself  that  the  girl  possessed  it. 

"He's  young  yet,"  sighed  the  mother,  "and  he's  always 
so  sweet  to  you,  Molly.  Some  day  he'll  wake  up.  .  .  . 
There,  there,  dearie,  don't  cry!" 

"I'm  so  unhappy,"  sobbed  Molly. 

Mrs.  King  smoothed  the  golden  head  tenderly. 

192 


MOLLY  ASKS  TO  BE  FORGIVEN     193 

"Why,  child,  he  can't  help  but  love  you,"  she  insisted. 
"He  knows  how  much  I  depend  on  you.  .  .  .  I'd  have 
had  you  with  me  long  before  if  your  father  hadn't  needed 
you.  .  .  .  Shall  I  speak  to  Theodore?" 

"No,  no "  gasped  Molly,  and  she  ran  from  the  room. 

Under  the  tall  trees  she  paced  for  many  minutes.  How 
could  she  wait  until  dinner — until  he  came  home?  She 
felt  her  pride  ebbing  away  as  she  watched  the  sun  cross 
the  sky.  The  minutes  seemed  hours  long.  Molly  went 
swiftly  into  the  house.  First  assuring  herself  no  one  was 
within  hearing  distance,  she  paused  before  the  telephone, 
longing,  yet  scarcely  daring  to  use  it.  Then  she  took  off 
the  receiver  and  called  Theodore's  number.  His  voice, 
deep,  low  and  thrilling,  answered  her. 

"It's  I,  Theo,"  she  said  faintly.  .  .  .     Molly." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  but  that  was  all. 

He  gave  her  no  encouragement,  no  opening,  but  in  ides- 
peration  she  uttered, 

"Theodore,  I'm  sorry!  .  .  .  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!  .  .  . 
Won't  you  forgive  me?" 

There  was  silence  on  the  wire  for  an  appreciable  length 
of  time. 

"Theodore?"  murmured  Molly  once  more. 

"Yes." 

"I  want  you  to  forgive  me.  ...  I  couldn't  wait  until 
you  came  home." 

She  heard  a  slight  cough,  then  came  the  reply. 

"I  can't  control  your  thoughts,  Molly,  but  I  dislike  to 
have  my  friends  illy  spoken  of." 

"I  know !  I  know  it,  Theodore !  But  please  forgive  me, 
won't  you?" 

"Very  well,"  answered  Theodore,  and  he  clicked  off  the 
'phone. 

Molly  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands. 


194  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"He  hung  the  receiver  up  in  my  ear,"  she  muttered. 
"How  cruel,  how  terrible  of  him !" 

It  was  a  wan,  beautiful  face  that  turned  up  to  Theo- 
dore King  when  he  came  home  to  dinner.  Too  kindly  by 
nature  to  hurt  any  one,  he  smiled  at  Molly.  Then  he 
stopped  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  woman  took  it,  say- 
ing earnestly : 

"I'm  sorry,  Theo.  .  .  .  I'm  very  sorry.  I  think  I'm 
a  little  cat,  don't  you?"  and  she  laughed,  the  tension 
lifted  from  her  by  his  cordiality. 

There  was  a  wholesomeness  in  her  manner  that  made 
Theodore's  heart  glad. 

"Of  course  not,  Molly!  .  .  .  You  couldn't  be  that! 
.  .  .  And  next  week  we  will  have  a  lovely  day  in  the 
country." 

Molly  turned  away  sadly.  She  had  hoped  he  would 
do  as  she  wanted  him  to  in  spite  of  his  appointment  with 
Jinnie  Grandoken. 

That  evening  Jinnie  wore  a  beautiful  new  dress  when 
she  started  for  the  Kings.  Of  course  she  didn't  know  that 
Theodore  had  arranged  with  Peggy  to  purchase  it,  and 
when  Mrs.  Grandoken  had  told  her  to  come  along  and  buy 
the  gown,  Jinnie's  eyes  sparkled,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"I'd  rather  you'd  spend  the  money  on  Lafe  and  Bobbie," 
she  said. 

But  Peggy  replied,  "No,"  and  that's  how  it  came  that 
Jinnie  stepped  quite  proudly  from  the  motor  car  at  the 
stone  steps. 

Molly  Merriweather  met  her  with  a  forced  smile,  and 
Jinnie  felt  strained  until  Theodore  King's  genial  greeting 
dissipated  the  affront.  After  the  dinner,  through  which 
she  sat  very  much  embarrassed,  she  played  until,  to  the 
man  watching  her,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  roof  would  lift 
from  the  house  and  sail  off  into  the  Heavens. 


MOLLY  ASKS  TO  BE  FORGIVEN     195 

When  Jinnie  was  ready  to  go  home,  standing  blushing 
under  the  bright  light,  she  had  never  looked  more  lovely. 
Molly  hoped  Theo  would  send  the  girl  alone  in  the  car  with 
Bennett,  but  as  she  saw  him  put  on  his  hat,  she  said,  with 
hesitancy : 

"Mayn't  I  go  along?" 

She  asked  the  question  of  Theodore,  and  realized  in- 
stantly that  he  did  not  want  her. 

Jinnie  came  forward  impetuously. 

"Oh,  do  come,  Miss  Merriweather !    It'll  be  so  nice." 

And  Molly  hated  the  girl  more  cordially  than  ever. 

On  arriving  home  Jinnie  beamed  out  her  happiness  to 
the  cobbler  and  his  wife. 

"And  the  fiddle,  Peggy,  they  loved  the  fiddle,"  she  told 
the  woman. 

"Did  you  make  it,  Jinnie?"  asked  Peggy  gruffly. 

"What,  the  fiddle?"  demanded  Jinnie. 

Peggy  nodded. 

"No,"  faltered  Jinnie  in  surprise. 

"Then  don't  brag  about  it,"  warned  Peggy.  "If  you'd 
a  glued  them  boards  together,  it'd  a  been  something,  but 
as  long  as  you  didn't,  it  ain't  no  credit  to  you." 

Lafe  laughed,  and  Jinnie,  too,  uttered  a  low,  rueful 
sound.  How  funny  Peg  was  !  And  when  Mrs.  Grandoken 
had  gone  to  prepare  for  the  night,  Lafe  insisted  that  Jin- 
nie tell  him  over  and  over  all  the  happenings  of  the  evening. 
For  a  long  time  afterwards  she  sat  dreaming,  reminiscing 
in  sweet  fancy  every  word  and  smile  Theodore  had  given 
her. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

"HAVEN'T  YOU  ANY  SOUL?" 

WHENEVER  Molly  Merriweather  was  mentioned  to  Theo- 
dore King,  that  young  man  felt  a  twinge  in  his  conscience. 
His  mother  had  taken  him  gently  to  task.  Out  of  respect 
for  Molly's  wishes  she  refrained  from  speaking  of  the 
girl's  affection  for  him,  but  cautioned  him  to  be  careful 
not  to  offend  her  companion. 

"She's  very  sensitive,  you  know,  Theodore  dear,  and 
very  good  to  me.  I  really  don't  know  what  I'd  do  without 
her." 

"I  was  thoughtless !  .  .  .  I'll  do  better,  mother  mine," 
he  smiled.  "I'll  go  to  her  now  and  tell  her  so." 

Theodore  found  Molly  writing  a  letter  in  the  library. 
He  sank  into  an  easy  chair  and  yawned  good-naturedly. 
The  woman  was  still  furious  with  him,  so  merely  lifted  her 
eyes  at  his  entrance,  and  went  on  writing.  Theodore  was 
quiet  for  a  few  moments,  then  with  a  laugh  went  to  the 
desk  and  took  the  pen  forcibly  from  Molly's  hand. 

"Come  and  make  up,"  he  said. 

"Have  we  anything  to  make  up?"  she  asked  languidly, 
keeping  her  eyes  on  the  paper. 

"Of  course  we  have.  You  know  very  well,  Molly,  you're 
angry  with  me.  .  .  .  Now  mother  says " 

She  caught  his  bantering  tone,  and  resenting  it,  drew 
her  fingers  away  haughtily. 

"You  learn  good  manners  from  your  mother,  it  seems." 

196 


"HAVEN'T   YOU  ANY   SOUL?"      197 

Her  tone  was  insolent  and  angered  him.  Theodore 
returned  quickly  to  his  chair. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  denied.  "You  know  I  don't!  But 
before  you  asked  me  to  go  with  you  Saturday,  I  told  you  I 
had  an  appointment " 

"Yes,  and  you  told  me  who  it  was  with,  too,"  Molly 
thrust  back  in  his  teeth. 

"Exactly,  because  there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't. 
I've  taken  an  extreme  interest  in  the  little  girl.  .  .  .  You 
offended  me  by  talking  against  her." 

Molly's  temper  was  rising  by  the  minute.  She  had  ar- 
mored herself  with  a  statement,  the  truth  of  which  she 
would  force  upon  him. 

"I'm  not  sure  I  said  anything  that  wasn't  true,"  she 
returned  discourteously. 

Theodore  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Then  you  didn't  mean  it  when  you  said  you  were 
sorry?"  he  demanded  shortly. 

"I  wanted  you  to  go  with  me,  that's  all." 

"And  you  took  that  way  to  make  me.    Was  that  it  ?" 

Molly  picked  up  her  pen  and  made  a  few  marks  with  it. 

"I'm  not  interested  in  Miss  Grandoken,"  she  replied. 

"So  I  notice,"  retorted  Theodore,  provokingly. 

She  turned  around  upon  him  with  angry,  sparkling  eyes. 

"I  think  you've  a  lot  of  nerve  to  bring  her  into  your 
home." 

She  hazarded  this  without  thought  of  consequences. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked  presently,  searching  her 
face  with  an  analytical  gaze. 

Molly  was  wrought  up  to  the  point  of  invention,  per- 
haps because  she  was  madly  jealous. 

"Men  generally  keep  that  sort  of  a  woman  to  them- 
selves," she  explained.  "A  home  is  usually  sacred  to  the 
ordinary  man." 


198  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Theodore  was  stung  to  silence.  It  was  a  bitter  fling, 
and  his  thoughts  worked  rapidly.  It  took  a  long  moment 
for  his  tall  figure  to  get  up  from  the  chair. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  thrusting  his 
hands  into  his  pockets. 

"I  don't  believe  I  need  tell  you  any  more,"  she  answered. 

Theodore  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  as  if  turned 
to  stone. 

"I'm  dense,  I  guess,"  he  admitted  huskily. 

Angered  beyond  reason  or  self-control,  Molly  pushed 
the  letter  away  impatiently  and  stood  up. 

"Well,  if  you're  so  terribly  dense,  then  listen.  No  man 
is  ever  interested  in  a  girl  like  that  unless  she  is  something 

more  to  him  than  a  mere "  She  broke  off,  because  a 

dark  red  flush  was  spreading  in  hot  waves  over  the  man's 
face.  But  bravely  she  proceeded,  "Of  course  you  wouldn't 
insult  your  family  and  your  friends  by  marrying  her. 
Then  what  conclusion  do  you  want  them  to  draw?" 

Theodore  looked  at  her  as  if  she'd  suddenly  lost  her 
senses.  She  had  cast  an  aspersion  upon  the  best  little  soul 
in  God's  created  world. 

"Well,  of  all  the  villainous  insinuations  I  ever  heard!"' 
he  thundered  harshly.  "My  God,  woman!  Haven't  you 
any  soul  .  .  .  any  decency  about  you?" 

The  question  leaped  out  of  a  throat  tense  with  uncon- 
trollable rage.  It  was  couched  in  language  never  used  to 
her  before,  and  caused  the  woman  to  stagger  back.  She 
was  about  to  demand  an  apology,  when  Theodore  flung 
out  of  the  room  and  banged  the  door  behind  him. 

Molly  sat  down  quickly.  Humiliating,  angry  tears 
flowed  down  her  cheeks  and  she  made  no  effort  to  restrain 
them.  What  cared  she  that  Theodore  had  repudiated  her 
accusation?  She  felt  she  had  discovered  the  truth,  and 
nothing  more  need  be  said  about  it. 


"HAVEN'T   YOU  ANY   SOUL?"      199 

After  growing  a  little  calmer,  she  saw  that  she'd  made 
another  mistake  by  enraging  Theodore.  He  had  not  taken 
her  insults  against  the  girl  as  she  had  expected. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  called  his  office  and  was  informed 
he  was  out. 

Theodore  left  Molly  more  angry  than  he'd  ever  been  in 
his  life.  Instead  of  making  him  think  less  of  Jinnie, 
Molly's  aspersions  drew  him  more  tenderly  toward  the  girl. 
As  he  strode  through  the  road  under  the  trees,  his  heart 
burned  to  see  her.  He  looked  at  his  watch — it  was  four 
o'clock.  Jinnie  had  had  her  lesson  in  the  morning,  so  he 
could  not  call  for  her  at  the  master's.  Just  then  he  saw 
her  walking  quickly  along  the  street,  and  she  lifted  shy, 
glad  eyes  as  he  spoke  her  name.  By  this  time  his  temper 
had  cooled,  yet  there  lingered  in  his  heart  the  stabbing: 
hurt  brought  there  by  Molly's  slurs.  He  felt  as  if  in 
some  way  he  owed  an  apology  to  Jinnie;  as  if  he  must 
make  up  for  harm  done  her  by  a  vile,  gossiping  tongue. 

He  fell  into  step  beside  her  and  gently  took  the  violin 
box  from  her  hand. 

"And  how  is  my  little  friend  to-day  ?"  he  asked. 

His  voice,  unusually  musical,  made  Jinnie  spontaneously 
draw  a  little  nearer  him. 

"I'm  very  well,"  she  returned,  demurely,  "and  I've 
learned  some  very  lovely  things.  I  went  up  twice  to-day 
— sometimes  the  master  makes  me  come  back  in  the  after- 
noon." 

It  eased  his  offended  dignity  to  see  her  so  happy,  so 
vividly  lovely.  He  had  gone  to  Molly  with  the  intention 
of  asking  her  to  go  with  him  some  day  soon  to  Mottville. 
He  thought  of  this  now  with  a  grim  setting  of  his  teeth; 
but  looking  at  Jinnie,  an  idea  more  to  his  liking  came  in 
its  place.  He  would  take  her  somewhere  for  a  day.  She 
needed  just  such  a  day  to  make  her  color  a  little  brighter, 


200  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

although  as  he  glanced  at  her  again,  he  had  to  admit  she 
was  rosy  enough.  Nevertheless  a  great  desire  came  over 
him  to  ask  her ;  so  when  they  had  almost  reached  the  cob- 
bler's shop,  he  said  : 

"How  would  a  nice  holiday  suit  you?" 

Jinnie  looked  up  into  his  face,  startled. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  holiday?  Not  to  take  les- 
sons ?" 

Theodore  caught  her  thought,  and  laughed, 

"Oh,  no,  not  that !  But  I  was  thinking  if  you  would  go 
with  me  into  the  country " 

"For  a  whole  day  ?"  gasped  Jinnie,  stopping  point  blank. 

"Yes,  for  a  whole  day,"  replied  Theodore,  smiling. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  go.    I  couldn't." 

"Why?  .   .   .     Don't  you  want  to?" 

Of  course  she  wanted  to  go*  Jinnie  felt  that  if  she 
knew  she  was  going  with  him,  she'd  fly  to  the  sky  and  back 
again. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured.  "I'd  like  to  go,  but  I  couldn't 
— for  lots  of  reasons !  .  .  .  Lafe  wouldn't  let  me  for  one, 
and  then  Bobbie  needs  me  awfully." 

They  started  on,  and  Jinnie  could  see  Lafe's  window, 
but  not  the  cobbler  himself. 

"But  I'd  bring  you  back  at  dusk,"  Theodore  assured 
her,  "and  you'd  be  happy " 

"Happy!  Happy!"  she  breathed,  with  melting  eyes. 
"I'd  be  more'n  happy,  but  I  can't  go." 

Theodore  raised  his  hat  quickly  and  left  her  without 
another  word. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

JINNIE  DECIDES  AGAINST  THEODOEE 

Now  for  a  few  days  Theodore  King  had  had  in  mind  a 
plan  which,  as  he  contemplated  it,  gave  him  great  delight. 
He  had  decided  to  send  Jinnie  Grandoken  away  to  school, 
to  a  school  where  she  would  learn  the  many  things  he 
considered  necessary. 

So  one  morning  at  Jinnie's  lesson  hour  he  appeared  at 
the  cobbler's  shop  and  was  \received  by  Lafe  with  his 
usual  grave  smile. 

"Jinnie's  at  the  master's,"  said  Mr.  Grandoken,  excus- 
ing the  girl's  absence. 

"Yes,  I  know.  The  fact  is,  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you 
and  Mrs.  Grandoken." 

Lafe  looked  at  him  critically. 

"Bobsie,"  said  he  to  the  blind  boy,  "call  Peggy,  will 
you?" 

When  the  woman  and  child  came  in  hand  in  hand,  Peggy 
bowed  awkwardly  to  Mr.  King.  Somehow,  when  this  young 
man  appeared  with  his  aristocratic  manner  and  his  genial, 
friendly  advances,  she  was  always  embarrassed. 

Theodore  cleared  his  throat. 

"For  some  time,"  he  began,  "I've  had  in  mind  a  little 
plan  for  Miss  Jinnie,  and  I  do  hope  you'll  concur  with  me 
in  it." 

He  glanced  from  the  cobbler  to  his  wife,  and  Lafe  re- 
plied, 

201 


202  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"You've  been  too  kind  already,  Mr.  King " 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  kindness,  my  dear  Mr.  Grand- 
oken.  As  I've  told  you  before,  I'm  very  much  interested 
in  your  niece." 

Bobbie  slipped  from  Mrs.  Grandoken  and  went  close  to 
the  speaker. 

"She's  my  Jinnie,"  breathed  the  boy  with  a  saintly  smile. 

Theodore  laughed. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  my  lad,  but  you  want  her  to  be 
happy,  don't  you?" 

"She  is  happy,"  interjected  Lafe,  trembling. 

"You  might  tell  us  your  plan,"  broke  in  Peg  sourly, 
who  always  desired  to  get  the  worst  over  quickly. 

"Well,  it  is  to  send  her  away  to  school  for  a  few  years." 

Bobbie  gave  a  little  cry  and  staggered  to  Peg,  holding 
out  his  hands.  She  picked  him  up,  with  bitterness  de- 
picted in  her  face.  But  when  she  looked  at  her  husband 
she  was  shocked,  for  he  was  leaning  against  the  wall, 
breathing  deeply. 

"I  knew  the  thought  of  letting  her  go  would  affect  you, 
Mr.  Grandoken,"  soothed  Theodore.  "That's  why  I  came 
alone.  Jinnie's  so  tender-hearted  I  feared  the  sight  of 
your  first  grief  might  cause  her  to  refuse." 

"Does  she  know  you  was  goin'  to  ask  us  this?"  demanded 
Peg  suspiciously. 

Mr.  King  shook  his  head. 

"Of  course  not !  If  she  had,  she  and  I  would  have  asked 
it  together." 

"God  bless  'er !"  murmured  Lafe.  "You  see  it's  like  this, 
sir :  Peg  and  me  don't  want  to  stand  in  her  light." 

"I  won't  let  my  Jinnie  go,"  sighed  Bobbie.  "I  haven't 
any  stars  when  she's  gone." 

"The  poor  child's  devoted  to  her,"  excused  Lafe. 
"That's  what  makes  him  act  so  about  it." 


JINNIE  DECIDES  AGAINST  THEO    203 

Theodore's  sympathy  forced  him  to  his  feet. 

"So  I  see,"  said  he.  "Come  here,  young  man !  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  a  minute." 

Reluctantly  Bobbie  left  Mrs.  Grandoken,  and  Theo- 
dore, sitting  again,  took  him  on  his  knee. 

"Now,  Bobbie,  look  at  me." 

Bobbie  turned  up  a  wry,  tearful  face. 

"I've  got  my  eyes  on  you,  sir,"  he  wriggled. 

"That's  right!  Don't  you  want  your  Jinnie  to  learn 
a  lot  of  things  and  be  a  fine  young  lady  ?" 

"She  is  a  fine  young  lady  now,"  mumbled  Bobbie  stub- 
bornly, "and  she's  awful  pretty." 

"True,"  acquiesced  Theodore,  much  amused,  "but  she 
must  study  a  lot  more." 

"Lafe  could  learn  her  things,"  argued  Bobbie,  sitting 
up  very  straight.  "Lafe  knows  everything." 

Mr.  King  smiled  and  glanced  at  the  cobbler,  but  Lafe's 
face  was  so  drawn  and  white  that  Theodore  looked  away 
again.  He  couldn't  make  it  seem  right  that  he  should 
bring  about  such  sorrow  as  this,  yet  the  thought  of  Jinnie 
and  what  he  wanted  her  to  be  proved  a  greater  argument 
with  him  than  the  grief  of  her  family. 

"I've  told  you,  sir,"  Lafe  repeated,  "and  I  say  again, 
my  wife  and  me  don't  want  to  stand  in  our  girl's  light. 
She'll  decide  when  she  comes  home." 

Theodore  got  up,  placing  Bobbie  on  his  feet  beside  him. 

"I  hope  she'll  think  favorably  of  my  idea,  then,"  said 
he,  "and  to-morrow  I'll  see  her  and  make  some  final  ar- 
rangements." 

After  he  had  gone,  Peggy  and  Lafe  sat  for  a  long  time 
without  a  word. 

"Go  to  the  kitchen,  Bobbie,"  said  Mrs.  Grandoken  pres- 
ently, "and  give  Happy  Pete  a  bit  of  meat." 

The  boy  paused  in  his  stumbling  way  to  the  kitchen. 


204  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I  don't  want  my  Jinnie  to  go  away,"  he  mumbled. 

When  the  door  closed  on  the  blind  child,  Peggy  shook 
her  shoulders  disdainfully. 

"She'll  go,  of  course,"  she  sneered. 

"An5  we  can't  blame  'er  if  she  does,  Peg,"  answered 
Lafe  sadly.  "She's  young  yet,  an'  such  a  chance  ain't 
comin'  every  day." 

The  woman  got  heavily  to  her  feet. 

"I  hate  'er,  but  the  house's  dead  when  she  ain't  in  it," 
and  she  went  rapidly  into  the  other  room. 

Jinnie  came  into  the  shop  wearily,  but  one  look  at  the 
cobbler  brought  her  to  a  standstill.  She  didn't  wait  to 
take  off  her  hat  before  going  directly  to  him. 

"Lafe — Lafe  dear,  you're  sick.    Why,  honey  dear 

"I  ain't  very  well,  Jinnie  darlin'.  Would  you  mind 
askin'  Peggy  to  come  in  a  minute?" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  looked  up  as  the  girl  came  in. 

"Lafe  wants  you,  Peg.  He's  sick,  isn't  he?  What 
happened  to  him,  Peggy?" 

Bobbie  uttered  a  whining  cry. 

"Jinnie,"  he  called,  "Jinnie,  come  here !" 

Peg  pushed  the  girl  back  into,  the  little  hall. 

"You  shut  up,  Bobbie,"  she  ordered,  "and  sit  there! 
Jinnie'll  come  back  in  a  minute." 

Then  the  speaker  shoved  the  girl  ahead  of  her  into  the 
shop  and  stood  with  her  arms  folded,  austerely  silent. 

"I  want  to  know  what's  the  matter,"  insisted  Jinnie. 

"You  tell  'er,  Peg.    I  just  couldn't,"  whispered  Lafe. 

Mrs.  Grandoken  drew  a  deep  breath  and  ground  her 
|  teeth. 

"You've  got  to  go  away,  kid,"  she  began  tersely,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair. 

Jinnie  blanched  in  fright. 

"My  uncle !"  she  exclaimed,  growing  weak-kneed. 


JINNIE  DECIDES  AGAINST  THEO    205 

"No  such  thing,"  snapped  Peg.  "You're  goin'  to  a 
fine  school  an'  learn  how  to  be  a  elegant  young  lady." 

"Who  said  so?"  flashed  Jinnie. 

"Mr.  King,"  cut  in  Lafe. 

Then  Jinnie  understood,  and  she  laughed  hysterically. 
For  one  blessed  single  moment  her  woman's  heart  told 
her  that  Theodore  would  not  be  so  eager  for  her  welfare  if 
he  didn't  love  her. 

"Was  that  what  made  your  tears,  Lafe?" 

Her  eyes  glistened  as  she  uttered  the  question. 

Lafe  nodded. 

"And  what  made  Bobbie  cry  so  loud?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  Mr.  King  here?" 

"Sure,"  said  Peg. 

"And  he  said  I  was  to  go  away  to  school,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  repeated  Peg,  "an'  of  course  you'll  go." 

Jinnie  went  forward  and  placed  a  slender  hand  on  Lafe's 
shoulder.  Then  she  faced  Mrs.  Grandoken. 

"Didn't  you  both  know  me  well  enough  to  tell  him  I 
wouldn't  go  for  anything  in  the  world?" 

If  a  bomb  had  been  placed  under  Mrs.  Grandoken's 
chair,  she  wouldn't  have  jumped  up  any  more  quickly,  and 
she  flung  out  of  the  door  before  Jinnie  could  stop  her. 
Then  the  girl  wound  her  arms  about  the  cobbler's  neck. 

"I  wouldn't  leave  you,  dear,  not  for  any  school  on 
earth,"  she  whispered.  "Now  I'm  going  to  tell  Mr.  King 
so." 

Jinnie  sped  along  Paradise  Road  and  into  the  nearest 
drug  store.  It  took  her  a  few  minutes  to  find  Theodore's 
number,  and  when  she  took  off  the  receiver,  she  had  not  the 
remotest  idea  how  to  word  her  refusal.  She  only  remem- 
bered Lafe's  sad  face  and  Bobbie's  sharp,  agonizing  call- 
ing of  her  name. 


206  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I  want  to  speak  to  Mr.  King,"  she  said  in  answer  to  a 
strange  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

Her  voice  was  so  low  that  a  sharp  reply  came  back. 

"Who'd  you  want?" 

"Theodore  King." 

She  waited  a  minute  and  then  another  voice,  a  voice  she 
knew  and  loved,  said, 

"This  is  Mr.  King!" 

"I'm  Jinnie  Grandoken,"  Theodore  heard.  "I  wanted 
to  tell  you  I  wouldn't  go  away  from  home  ever ;  no,  never ! 
I  wouldn't ;  I  couldn't !" 

"Don't  you  want  to  study?"  Mr.  King  asked  eagerly. 

Jinnie  shook  her  head  as  if  she  were  face  to  face  with 
him. 

"I'm  studying  all  the  time,"  she  said  brokenly,  "and  I 
can't  go  away  now.  If  they  couldn't  spare  me  one  day, 
they  couldn't  all  the  time." 

"Then  I  suppose  that  settles  it,"  was  the  reluctant  re- 
ply. "I  hoped  you'd  be  pleased,  but  never  mind !  I'll  see 
you  very  soon." 

"I  told  him!"  said  Jinnie,  facing  the  cobbler.  "Now, 
Lafe,  don't  ever  think  I'm  going  away,  because  I'm  not. 
I've  got  some  plans  of  my  own  for  us  all  when  I'm  eighteen. 
Till  then  I  stay  right  here." 

At  dinner  Peg  cut  off  a  very  large  piece  of  meat  and 
flung  it  on  Jinnie's  plate. 

"I  suppose  you're  plumin'  yourself  because  you  didn't 
go  to  school;  but  you  needn't,  'cause  nothin'  could  drag 
you  from  this  shop,  an5  there's  my  word  for  it."  Then 
she  glanced  at  Lafe,  and  ended,  "If  'er  leg  was  nailed  to 
your  bench,  she  wouldn't  be  any  tighter  here.  Now  eat, 
all  of  you,  an'  keep  your  mouths  shut." 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

PEG'S  VISIT 

ONE  morning  Bobbie  sat  down  gravely  some  distance 
from  Lafe,  took  up  one  of  Milly  Ann's  kittens,  and  fell 
into  troubled  thought.  After  permitting  him  to  be  silent 
a  few  moments,  the  cobbler  remarked, 

"Anything  on  your  mind,  comrade?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bobbie,  sighing. 

"Can't  you  tell  a  feller  what  it  is?" 

Bobbie  pushed  the  kitten  from  his  lap.  He  crept  to 
the  cobbler's  side  slowly.  Then,  as  he  leaned  his  golden 
head  against  his  friend,  Lafe's  arm  fell  about  him. 

"Tell  me,  laddie,"  insisted  Mr.  Grandoken. 

"My  stars're  all  gone  out,"  faltered  the  boy  sadly. 

"What  made  'em  go  out,  Bob?  .   .   .     Can  you  tell?" 

"Yes,"  blubbered  Bobbie.  "I  guess  Jinnie's  sick,  that's 
what's  the  matter." 

"Sick?"  asked  Lafe,  in  a  startled  voice.  "Who  said 
so?  .  .  .  Did  she?" 

Bobbie  shook  his  head. 

"No,  but  I  know !  .  .  .  She  cried  last  night,  and  other 
nights  too." 

Lafe  considered  a  moment. 

"I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Bob,"  he  said,  knocking  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe. 

Jinnie  left  the  master's  home  with  lagging  footsteps. 
The  idea  of  going  away  to  school  had  not  appealed  to  her, 

207 


208 

but  never  in  all  her  life  had  she  been  so  tempted  to  do  any- 
thing as  to  go  with  Theodore  for  one  blessed  day  in  the 
country — but  a  whole  day  from  home  could  not  be  thought 
of. 

The  cobbler  saw  her  crossing  the  tracks,  and  after  the 
daily  salute,  she  came  on  with  bent  head.  He  watched  her 
closely  during  the  evening  meal  and  gave  Bobbie  credit 
for  discovering  the  truth.  After  Peg  had  wheeled  him 
back  to  the  shop  and  he  was  alone  with  Jinnie,  Lafe  called 
her  to  him. 

"Bring  the  stool,"  said  he,  "an'  sit  here." 

Languidly  she  sank  down,  resting  against  him.  She 
was  very  tired  besides  being  very  unhappy.  Lafe  placed 
two  fingers  under  her  chin,  lifting  her  face  to  his.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  she  no  longer  tried  to  conceal 
her  suffering.  The  cobbler  remained  quiet  while  she  cried 
softly.  At  last: 

"It's  Maudlin  Bates,  ain't  it,  darlin'?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Lafe." 

"Can't  you  tell  your  friend  what  'tis?" 

"I  guess  I'm  crying  because  I'm  foolish,  dear,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"No,  that's  not  true,  Jinnie.  I  feel  as  bad  seeing  you 
cry's  if  'twas  Peggy." 

This  was  a  compliment,  and  Jinnie  tried  to  sit  up 
bravely,  but  a  friendly  hand  held  her  close. 

"Just  begin,  an'  the  rest'll  come  easy,"  Lafe  insisted. 

Jinnie's  tongue  refused  to  talk,  and  of  a  sudden  she 
grew  ashamed  and  dropped  her  scarlet  face. 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  tell  it,  Lafe  dear,"  she  got  out. 

"Something  about  a  man?" 

Jinnie  nodded. 

"Then  I  got  to  know !    Tell  me !"  he  directed. 

His  insistence  drew  forth  a  tearful  confession. 


PEG'S   VISIT  209 

"Before  Mr.  King  spoke  about  the  school,  he  asked  me 
to  go  a  day  in  the  country  with  my  fiddle,  and  I  couldn't." 

After  the  telling,  she  caught  her  breath  and  hid  her  face. 

"Why?"  Lafe  demanded.    "Why  couldn't  you?" 

Jinnie  raised  startled  eyes  to  the  cobbler's  for  the  bet- 
ter part  of  a  minute.  What  did  he  mean?  JVas  it  pos- 
sible  

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  let  me " 

"You  didn't  ask  me,  did  you,  Jinnie?" 

"No,  because — because " 

"Because  why?"  Lafe  intended  to  get  at  the  root  of 
the  matter. 

"Too  long  from  the  shop!  Bobbie  needs  me,"  replied 
Jinnie. 

"I  don't  think  so,  child.  .  .  .  The  kid'd  be  all  right 
with  me  and  Peg." 

"Lafe?"  cried  Jinnie,  standing  up  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  him. 

"You  ought  to  a  told  me  when  he  spoke  of  it,  Jinnie. 
I  could  a  fixed  it." 

The  cobbler  smiled,  and  then  laughed. 

Once  more  on  the  stool  in  front  of  him,  Jinnie  said : 

"I'm  afraid  Mr.  King  was  a  little  offended." 

"It  would  a  done  you  a  lot  of  good  to  get  out  in  the 
fields "  chided  Lafe. 

"And  the  woods,  Lafe.  I'd  taken  my  fiddle.  He  asked 
me  to." 

"Sure,"  replied  Lafe.  .   .   .     "Call  Peggy." 

Mrs.  Grandoken,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  noticed 
Lafe's  gravity  and  signs  of  Jinnie's  tears. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  inquired. 

Lafe  told  her  quietly,  and  finished  with'  his  hand  on 
Jinnie's  head. 

"Our  little  helper  ought  to  have  some  fun,  Peggy." 


210  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie  glanced  up.  What  would  Peggy  think  ?  But  for 
a  few  minutes  Peg  didn't  tell  them.  Then  she  said  : 

"She  ought  a  went,  I  think,  Lafe." 

Jinnie  got  up  so  quickly  that  Happy  Pete  and  Milly 
Ann  stirred  in  their  sleep. 

"Oh,  Peg,  I  do  want  to — but  how  can  I,  now  I've  said 
I  wouldn't?  .  .  .  How  can  I?" 

"You  can't,"  decided  Peg  gruffly,  and  Jinnie  dropped 
down  once  more  at  Lafe's  feet. 

"I  guess  you'll  have  to  forget  about  it,  child,  an'  be 
*Happy  in  Spite',"  said  Lafe,  with  a  sigh. 

The  next  day  Peggy  took  Lafe  into  her  confidence. 

"I  think  it  could  be  did,"  she  ended,  looking  at  her  hus- 
band. 

"Mebbe,"  said  Mr.  Grandoken  thoughtfully. 

"I'll  do  it,"  snapped  Peg,  "but  I  hate  'er,  an'  you  can 
bang  me  if  that  ain't  a  fact,  but — but  I'll  go,  I  said." 

About  ten  o'clock  Peggy  dressed  and  went  out. 

Theodore  King  was  in  his  office,  trying  to  keep  his  mind 
on  a  line  of  figures.  Of  late  work  palled  on  him.  He 
sighed  and  leaned  back  thoughtfully,  striking  and  touch- 
ing a  match  to  his  cigar.  Memories  of  blue-eyed  Jinnie 
enveloped  him  in  a  mental  maze.  She  stood  radiant  and 
beckoning,  her  exquisite  face  smiling  into  his  at  every 
turn. 

He  realized  now  how  much  he  desired  Jinnie  Grando- 
ken— and  were  she  with  him  at  that  moment,  life  could 
offer  him  nothing  half  so  sweet. 

"I  want  her  always,"  he  said  grimly,  aloud  to  himself. 

A  boy's  head  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Woman  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  he. 

"Who?" 

"Mrs.  Grandoken." 

"Show  her  in,"  and  Theodore  stood  up. 


PEG'S   VISIT  211 

Peggy  came  in  embarrassedly.  She  had  a  mission  to 
perform  which  she  very  much  disliked. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Grandoken,"  said  Theodore,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Peg,  flushing  darkly. 

Her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  How  could 
she  state  her  errand  to  this  dignified,  handsome  young 
man?  He  was  looking  at  her  questioningly ;  but  that 
wasn't  all — he  was  smiling  encouragingly  also. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  said  he. 

Peggy  coughed,  smoothed  her  mouth  with  her  hand, 
pulled  the  thin  shawl  more  closely  about  her  shoulders, 
and  took  the  indicated  seat.  Taking  no  time  to  reflect 
on  the  best  way  to  present  her  case,  she  blurted  out, 

"Lafe  didn't  know  till  last  night  about  your  askin'  Jin- 
nie  to  go  for  a  holiday?" 

"Oh!" 

The  man  was  at  a  loss  to  say  more  than  that  one  word 
in  question. 

"No,"  replied  Peggy,  "and  she's  been  cr}rin' " 

"Crying?"  ejaculated  Theodore.     "Crying,  you  say?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Peggy. 

"What'd  she  cry  for?"  asked  Theodore.  "She  positively 
refused  to  go  with  me." 

"I  know  it,  but  she  thought  me  an'  Lafe  wouldn't  let 
'er." 

Theodore  moved  uneasily  about  the  office. 

"And  would  }rou?"  he  asked  presently. 

"Sure,"  responded  Peggy,  nodding  vigorously.  "Sure ! 
Jinnie's  been  workin'  awful  hard  for  years,  an'  Lafe'd  like 
you  to  take  'er.  But  you  musn't  tell  'er  I  come  here." 

Saying  this,  Peggy  rose  to  her  feet.  She  had  finished 
what  she  had  come  to  say  and  was  ready  to  go.  Theo- 
dore King  laughingly  thanked  her  and  shook  her  heartily 


212  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

by  the  hand.  Then  he  escorted  her  to  the  door,  and  she 
returned  to  Lafe  a  little  less  grim. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Jinnie  left  the  master's  music 
room,  carrying  her  fiddle  box.  Her  teacher  noticed  she 
played  with  less  spirit  than  usual,  but  had  refrained  from 
mentioning  it. 

She  was  coming  down  the  steps  when  King's  car  dashed 
up  to  the  door.  Her  meetings  with  him  were  always  un- 
expected and  found  her  quite  unprepared  for  the  shock  to 
her  emotions. 

"I've  come  to  take  you  home,  Jinnie,"  said  Theodore, 
jumping  out. 

Jinnie's  throat  filled,  and  silently  she  allowed  him  to  help 
her  to  the  seat.  They  were  in  the  flat  of  the  town  before 
he  turned  to  her. 

"I  haven't  given  up  my  plan  to  take  you  away  for  a 
day,"  he  said  gently. 

Jinnie  gulped  with  joy.  He  was  going  to  ask  her  again ! 
Lafe  and  Peg  had  said  she  could  go.  She  waited  for  him 
to  proceed,  which  he  did  more  gravely. 

"When  I  make  up  my  mind  to  do  a  thing,  I  generally 
do  it.  Now  which  day  shall  it  be,  Jinnie?" 

"I  guess  I'll  have  to  let  you  tell,"  whispered  Jinnie, 
which  whisper  Theo  caught  despite  the  noise  of  the  chug- 
ging motor. 

"Then,  to-morrow,"  he  decided,  driving  up  to  the  cob- 
bler's shop.  "I'll  come  for  you  at  nine  o'clock.  .  .  .  Look 
at  me,  Jinnie." 

Slowly  she  dragged  a  pair  of  unfathomable  blue  eyes  to 
his. 

"We're  going  to  be  happy  for  one  whole  beautiful  day, 
Jinnie,"  said  he  hoarsely. 

He  helped  her  out,  and  neither  one  spoke  again.  The 
motor  started  away,  and  the  girl  rushed  into  the  shop. 


PEG'S    VISIT  213 

Lafe  had  just  said  to  Peggy,  "There  they  be!  He's 
been  after  'er !" 

"Lafe,  Lafe  dear,"  Jinnie  gurgled.  "I'm  going  with 
'im  to-morrow.  All  day  with  the  birds  and  flowers !  Oh, 
Peggy  dear,  I'm  so  happy !" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  glared  at  her. 

"Ugh !  'S  if  it  matters  to  me  whether  you're  happy  or 
not !" 

Jinnie  stooped  and  smothered  Bobbie  with  caresses. 
With  his  arms  tightly  about  her  neck,  he  purred  con- 
tentedly, 

"My  stars're  all  shinin'  bright,  Jinnie." 

"Kiss  me,  both  of  you  kids !"  was  all  Lafe  said. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

WHAT  THE  FIDDLE  TOLD  THEODORE 

JINNEE  looked  very  sweet  when  she  bade  farewell  to  Peg 
and  Lafe  the  next  morning.  Mr.  King's  car  was  at  the 
door,  and  the  cobbler  watched  him  as  he  stepped  from  it 
with  a  monosyllabic  greeting  to  the  girl  and  helped  her 
to  the  seat  next  to  his.  Peggy,  too,  was  craning  her  neck 
for  a  better  view. 

"They're  thick  as  thieves,"  she  said,  with  a  dubious 
shake  of  her  head. 

"I  guess  he  likes  5er,"  chuckled  Lafe.  "To  make  a  long 
story  short,  wife,  a  sight  like  that  does  my  eyes  good !" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  shrugged  her  shoulders,  growled  deep 
in  her  throat,  and  opined  they  were  all  fools. 

"An*  quit  doin'  yourself  proud,  Lafe!"  she  grumbled. 
"You're  grinnin'  like  a  Cheshire  cat.  'Tain't  nothin'  to 
your  credit  she's  goin'  to  have  the  time  of  her  life." 

"No,  'tain't  to  my  credit,  Peggy,"  retorted  the  cobbler, 
"but  'tis  to  yours,  wife." 

By  the  time  Lafe  finished  this  statement,  Mr.  King  and 
Jinnie  Grandoken  were  bowling  along  a  white  road  toward 
a  hill  bounding  the  west  side  of  the  lake. 

"See  that  basket  down  here?"  said  the  man  after  a  long 
silence. 

"Yes." 

"That's  our  picnic  (dinner!  I  brought  everything  I 
thought  a  little  girl  with  a  sweet  tooth  might  like." 

214 


WHAT  THE  FIDDLE  TOLD  THEO      215 

Jinnie  had  forgotten  about  food.  Her  mind  had  dwelt 
only  upon  the  fact  she  was  going  to  be  with  him  all  day, 
one  of  those  long,  beautiful  days  taken  from  Heaven's 
cycle  for  dear  friends.  The  country,  too,  stretched  in 
majestic  splendor  miles  ahead  of  them,  trees  rimming  the 
road  on  each  side  and  making  a  thick  woodland  as  far  as 
one  could  see. 

"I'm  glad  I  brought  my  fiddle,"  Jinnie  remarked  pres- 
ently. 

"I  am,  too,"  said  Theodore. 

The  place  he  chose  for  their  outing  was  far  back  from 
the  highway,  and  leaving  the  car  at  one  side  of  the  road, 
they  threaded  their  way  together  to  it.  The  sky  above 
was  very  blue,  the  lake  quietly  reflecting  its  sapphire 
shades.  Off  in  the  distance  the  high  hills  gazed  down  upon 
the  smaller  ones,  guarding  them  in  quietude. 

Theodore  spread  one  of  the  auto  robes  on  the  ground, 
and  shyly  Jinnie  accepted  his  invitation  to  be  seated. 

"Oh,  it's  lovely,"  she  said  in  soft  monotone,  glancing 
at  the  lake. 

"Yes,"  replied  Theodore  dreamily. 

His  eyes  were  upon  the  placid  water,  his  thoughts  upon 
the  girl  at  his  side.  Jinnie  was  thinking  of  him,  too,  and 
there  they  both  sat,  with  passionate  longing  in  their  young 
hearts,  watching  nature's  great  life  go  silently  by. 

"Play  for  me,"  Theodore  said  at  length,  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  water.  "Stand  by  that  big  tree  so  I 
can  look  at  you." 

Flushed,  palpitating,  and  beautiful,  Jinnie  took  the 
position  he  directed.  She  had  come  to  play  for  him,  to 
mimic  the  natural  world  for  his  pleasure. 

"Shall  I  play  about  the  fairies?"  she  asked  bashfully. 

"Yes,"  assented  King. 

As  on  that  night  in  his  home  when  first  she  came  into 


216  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

his  life  in  full  sway,  the  man  now  imagined  he  saw  creep- 
ing from  under  the  flower  petals  and  from  behind  the  tall 
trees,  the  tiny  inhabitants  of  Jinnie's  fairyland.  Then  he 
turned  his  eyes  toward  her,  and  as  he  watched  the  lithe 
young  figure,  the  pensive  face  lost  and  rapt  in  the  lul- 
laby, Theodore  came  to  the  greatest  decision  of  his  life. 
He  couldn't  live  without  Jinnie  Grandoken !  No  matter  if 
she  was  the  niece  of  a  cobbler,  no  matter  who  her  antece- 
dents were — she  was  born  into  the  world  for  him,  and  all 
that  was  delicate  and  womanly  in  her  called  out  to  the 
manhood  in  him ;  and  all  that  was  strong,  masterful,  and 
aggressive  in  him  clamored  to  protect  and  shield  her,  and 
in  that  fleeting  moment  the  brilliant  young  bachelor  sud- 
denly lost  his  hold  on  bachelordom,  as  a  boy  loses  his  hold 
on  a  kite.  There  are  times  in  every  human  life  when  such 
a  decision  as  Theodore  then  made  seemed  the  beginning  of 
everything.  It  was  as  if  the  past  had  wrapped  him  around 
like  the  grey  shell  of  a  cocoon. 

A  loose  lock  of  hair  fell  coquettishly  from  the  girl's  dark 
head  low  upon  the  fiddle,  and  Theodore  loved  and  wanted 
to  kiss  it,  and  when  the  instrument  dropped  from  under 
the  dimpled  chin,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Come  here,  Jinnie,"  he  said  softly.  "Come  sit  beside 
me." 

She  came  directly,  as  she  always  did  when  he  asked  any- 
thing of  her.  He  drew  her  down  close  to  his  side,  and  for 
a  long  time  they  remained  quiet.  Jinnie  was  facing  the 
acme  of  joy.  The  day  had  only  begun,  and  she  was  with 
the  object  of  her  dreams.  Just  as  when  she  had  lived  in 
the  hills  the  fiddle  had  held  the  center  of  her  soul,  so  now 
Theodore  King  occupied  that  sacred  place.  The  morning 
light  rose  in  her  eyes,  the  blue  fire  transforming  her  face. 

Theodore  turned,  saw,  and  realized  at  that  moment. 
He  discovered  in  her  what  he  had  long  desired.  She  loved 


'PLAY  FOB  MF,"  THEODORE  SAID.    "STAND  BY  THAT  BIG  TREE  so  i  CAN  LOOK  AT  YOU. 


WHAT  THE  FIDDLE  TOLD  THEO      217 

him!  All  the  old  longing,  all  the  strength  and  passion 
within  him  broke  loose  at  the  nearness  of  her.  Suddenly 
he  stretched  out  his  arms  and  drew  her  still  nearer.  Jin- 
nie  felt  every  muscle  of  his  strongly  fibered  body  grow 
tense  at  her  touch.  She  tried  to  draw  away  from  his  en- 
circling arms,  but  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom,  girlishly 
curved — the  small-girl  shyess  that  caused  her  to  endeavor 
to  unloose  his  strong  hands,  only  goaded  him  to  press  her 
closer. 

"Don't  leave  me,  my  dearest,  my  sweet,"  he  breathed, 
kissing  her  lids  and  hair.  "I  love  you !  I  love  you !" 

She  gasped  once,  twice,  and  her  head  fell  upon  his 
breast,  and  for  a  moment  she  lay  wrapped  in  her  youthful 
modesty  as  in  a  mantle. 

"Kiss  me,  Jinnie,"  Theodore  murmured  entreatingly. 

She  buried  her  head  closer  against  him. 

"Kiss  me,"  he  insisted,  drawing  her  face  upward.  His 
lips  fell  upon  hers,  and  Jinnie's  eyes  closed  under  the  magic 
of  her  first  kiss. 

The  master-passion  of  the  man  brought  to  sudden  life 
corresponding  emotions  in  the  girl — emotions  that  hurt 
and  frightened  her.  She  put  her  hand  to  his  face,  and 
touched  it.  He  drew  back,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"Don't,"  she  breathed.  "Don't  kiss  me  any  more  like — 
like  that." 

"But  you  love  me,  my  girlie,  sweet?"  he  murmured,  his 
lips  roving  over  her  face  in  dear  freedom.  "You  do !  .  .  . 
You  do!" 

Jinnie's  arms  went  about  him,  but  her  tongue  refused 
to  speak. 

"Kiss  me  again !"  Theodore  insisted. 

Oh,  how  she  wanted  to  kiss  him  once  more !  How  she 
gloried  in  the  strong  arms,  and  the  handsome  face  strung 
tense  with  his  love  for  her !  Then  their  lips  met  in  the  won- 


218  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

ders  of  a  second  kiss.  Jinnie  had  thought  the  first  one 
could  never  be  equaled,  but  as  she  lay  limply  in  his  arms, 
his  lips  upon  hers,  she  lost  count  of  everything. 

It  might  have  been  the  weird  effect  of  the  shadows,  or 
the  deep,  sudden  silence  about  them  that  drew  the  girl 
slowly  from  his  arms. 

"I  want  my  fiddle,"  she  whispered.     "Let  me  go !" 

Faint  were  the  inflections  of  the  words ;  insistent  the 
drawing  back  of  the  dear  warm  body. 

Theodore  permitted  her  to  get  up,  and  with  staggering 
step  she  took  her  position  at  the  tree  trunk. 

Then  he  sank  down,  hot  blood  coursing  through  his 
veins.  Long  ago  he  had  realized  in  Jinnie  and  the  fiddle 
essentials — essentials  to  his  future  and  his  happiness,  and 
to-day  her  kisses  and  divine,  womanly  yielding  had  only 
strengthened  that  realization.  Nothing  now  was  of  any 
importance  to  him  save  this  vibrant,  temperamental  girl. 
There  was  something  so  delightfully  young — so  pricelessly 
dear  in  the  way  she  had  surrendered  herself  to  him.  The 
outside  world  faded  from  his  memory  as  Jinnie  closed  her 
eyes,  and  with  a  very  white  face  began  to  play.  For  that 
day  she  had  finished  with  the  song  of  the  fairies,  the  bab- 
bling of  the  brook,  and  the  nodding  rhythm  of  the  flowers 
in  the  summer's  breeze.  All  that  she  considered  now  was 
Theodore  and  his  kisses.  The  bow  came  down  over  a 
string  with  one  long,  vibrating,  passionate  call.  It  ex- 
pressed the  awakening  of  the  girl's  soul — awakened  by  the 
touch  of  a  man's  turbulent  lips — Jinnie's  God-given  man. 
Her  fiddle  knew  it — felt  it — expressed  it ! 

With  that  first  seductive  kiss  the  soul-stirring  melody 
was  full  born  within  her,  as  a  world  is  called  into  the  fir- 
mament by  one  spoken  word  of  God.  And  as  she  played, 
Theodore  moved  silently  toward  her,  for  the  fiddle  was 
flashing  out  the  fervor  of  the  kisses  she  had  given  him. 


WHAT  THE  FIDDLE  TOLD  THEO      219 

He  was  close  at  her  feet  before  he  spoke,  and  simultan- 
eously the  white  lids  opened  in  one  blue,  blue  glance. 

"Jinnie!"  breathed  Theodore,  getting  up  and  holding 
out  his  arms.  "Come  to  me!  Come  to  me,  my  love!  I 
can't  live  another  moment  without  you." 

The  bow  and  fiddle  remained  unnoticed  for  the  next  half 
hour,  while  the  two,  the  new  woman  and  the  new  man,  were 
but  conscious  of  one  another,  nothing  else. 

At  length  Theodore  spoke. 

"Jinnie,  look  up  and  say,  'Theodore,  I  love  you'." 

It  was  hard  at  first,  because  her  mind  had  never  reached 
the  point  of  speaking  aloud  her  passionate  love  for  him, 
but  Theodore  heard  the  halting  words,  and  droned  them 
over  to  himself,  as  a  music  lover  delights  in  his  favorite 
strains. 

"And  you  love  me  well  enough  to  marry  me  some  day  ?" 
he  murmured. 

Marry  him!  This,  too,  was  a  new  thought.  Jinnie's 
heart  fluttered  like  a  bird  in  her  breast.  To  be  with  him 
always?  To  have  him  for  her  own?  Of  course,  he  was 
hers,  and  she  was  his!  Then  into  her  mind  came  the 
thought  of  Lafe,  Peggy,  and  Bobbie,  and  the  arms  around 
him  relaxed. 

"I  love  you  better'n  anybody  in  the  world,"  she  told 
him,  pathetically,  "but  I  can't  ever  leave  the  cobbler.  .  .  . 
They  need  me  there." 

"They  can't  keep  you,"  he  cried  passionately.  "I  want 
you  myself." 

His  vehemence  subdued  her  utterly.  She  glanced  into 
his  face.  In  his  flashing  eyes,  Jinnie  read  a  power  inimi- 
table and  unsurpassed. 

"I  couldn't  ever  leave  'em,"  she  repeated,  quivering,  "but 
couldn't  they  live " 

"We'd  take  the  little  blind  boy,"  promised  Theodore. 


220  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie  remained  pensive.  To  bring  the  shine  in  her 
eyes  once  more,  he  said: 

"Wouldn't  you  like  Bobbie  to  live  with  us  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  I  couldn't  leave  Lafe  and  Peg  in 
Paradise  Road." 

Theodore  surrounded  the  entreating,  uplifted  face  with 
two  strong  hands. 

"I  know  that.    We'll  take  care  of  them  all " 

Still  Jinnie  held  back  her  full  surrender. 

"Can  I  take  Happy  Pete,  too  ?  And  the  cats  ?  There's 
an  awful  lot  of  'em.  .  .  .  Milly  Ann  does  have  so  many 
kitties,"  she  ended  naively. 

Theodore  laughed  delightedly. 

"Dearest  little  heart!  Of  course  we'll  take  them  all, 
every  one  you  love !" 

"Will  you  tell  Lafe  about — about  us?"  Jinnie  asked 
shyly,  "I — I "  but  she  had  no  more  time  to  finish. 

"I'll  tell  him  to-morrow,  Jinnie!"  exclaimed  Theodore. 
"Are  you  happy,  dearest?" 

"So  happy,"  she  sighed,  with  loving  assurance. 

The  rest  of  the  day  they  were  like  two  frolicking  chil- 
dren, eating  their  luncheon  under  the  tall  trees.  When 
the  shadows  fell,  they  left  their  trysting  place,  and  with 
their  arms  about  each  other,  went  slowly  back  to  the 
automobile. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

WHAT  THEODORE  TOLD  HIS  FRIEND 

"HE'S  been  gone  all  day,"  mourned  Molly  miserably  to 
Jordan  Morse.  They  had  finished  dinner ;  Molly  had  put 
Mrs.  King  to  bed,  and  the  two  were  seated  in  chairs  on 
the  lawn.  Every  minute  that  passed  and  found  Theodore 
still  away  was  like  an  eternity  to  the  woman.  She  had 
always  hated  the  office  hours  which  took  him  from  the 
house,  hated  the  business  friends  who  dropped  in  now  and 
then  and  changed  the  conversation  from  the  delicate  per- 
sonal things  she  always  managed  to  dwell  upon. 

During  the  years  she  had  been  companion  to  Mrs.  King, 
Theo's  dinner  and  luncheon  hours  were  ones  of  joy  to  her. 
Now  this  day  had  passed  without  him. 

"He'll  show  up  before  long,"  Morse  said  presently. 
"What  a  lot  of  worry  you  have  over  that  man!  .  .  . 
Now  if  you  had  a  problem  on  your  hands  like  mine " 

The  soft  chug  of  a  motor  cut  off  his  ejaculation. 

"He's  coming,  now,"  he  said,  getting  up. 

Molly  responded  coldly  to  Theodore's  friendly  salute 
from  the  car. 

As  Mr.  King  walked  quickly  toward  them,  Morse  called 
laughingly, 

"We  had  just  decided  you'd  been  kidnapped." 

"Nothing  like  that,"  answered  Theodore,  "I've  been  in 
the  country.  .  .  .  Sit  down,  Jordan ;  no  use  standing 
up !"  And  Theodore  seated  himself  on  the  grass. 

221 


222  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"It's  been  a  fine  day,"  he  went  on  boyishly,  scarcely 
knowing  what  to  say. 

"Lovely,"  agreed  Molly,  and  Jordan  supplemented  this 
by  asking: 

"Have  a — pleasant  ride?" 

"Yes,  delightful!  One  doesn't  realize  how  murky  the 
city  is  until  he  goes  in  the  country  for  a  day." 

After  a  time,  during  which  he  looked  up  through  the 
enfolding  green  of  the  trees,  he  proceeded  calmly, 

"I  took  Miss  Grandoken  on  a  picnic." 

Morse's  sudden  glance  at  Molly  warned  her  to  control 
herself. 

"She's  an  odd  child,"  continued  Theodore,  "but,  then, 
all  geniuses  are.  I  don't  know  when  I've  so  thoroughly 
enjoyed  myself." 

Morse's  "That's  good,"  was  closely  followed  by  Molly's 
curt  question,  "Wherc'd  you  go  ?" 

"Just  up  the  lake  a  ways.  We  took  some  picnic 
stuff " 

"And  her  fiddle,  I  suppose?"  cut  in  Molly  sarcastically. 

"Of  course.    Jinnie's  not  Jinnie  without  her  fiddle." 

"She  does  play  well,"  admitted  Jordan. 

"More  than  well,"  interpolated  Theodore.  "She  plays 
divinely." 

Then  again  they  fell  into  an  oppressive  silence. 

Molly  was  so  curious  to  know  the  events  of  the  day  she 
could  scarcely  control  her  impatience. 

Suddenly  Mr.  King  announced : 

"I'm  going  to  marry  Jinnie  Grandoken." 

Molly  and  Morse  slowly  got  to  their  feet.  They  stood 
looking  down  upon  the  young  millionaire  with  jaws  apart 
and  startled  eyes. 

"\\Y11,  vou  needn't  look  as  if  I  were  about  to  commit 
some  crime,"  he  said,  quizzing  them  with  laughing  eyes. 


WHAT  THEO  TOLD  HIS  FRIEND      223 

"I  suppose  a  chap  can  get  married  if  he  wants  to;  can't 
he?" 

"It's  ridiculous,"  blurted  Miss  Merriweather. 

A  drawn,  helpless  expression  had  crept  into  her  eyes, 
making  her  appear  like  an  old  woman. 

Theodore  got  to  his  feet. 

"What's  ridiculous?"  he  demanded,  immediately  on  the 
defensive.  "My  wanting  to  be  happy?" 

"Not  that  quite,"  replied  the  woman,  "but  surely  you 
can't " 

"I  can  and  I  will!"  exclaimed  Theodore  decidedly.  "I 
couldn't  be  happy  without  her,  and  mother " 

"It'll  kill  *er,"  warned  Molly  significantly. 

"Not  at  all,"  denied  Theodore.  "My  mother's  a  woman 
of  sense !  When  she  knows  her  big  boy's  madly  in  love 
with  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world,  she'll  take  it  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

Miss  Merriweather  turned  toward  the  house. 

"I  think  I'll  go,"  she  said  in  strained  tones. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  veranda  when  Theodore 
called  her. 

"Molly!"  he  shouted. 

"Yes?" 

"Don't  tell  mother.    I  want  to  surprise  her." 

"Very  well,"  and  the  woman  went  on  again,  trembling 
from  the  blow  which  had  struck  her  in  the  face. 

The  two  men,  lolling  under  the  trees,  said  but  little 
more,  and  with  burning  heart  and  unsettled  mind,  Jordan 
Morse  went  back  to  his  apartment. 

He  had  scarcely  settled  himself  before  his  telephone 
tinkled.  Taking  down  the  receiver,  he  said, 

"Well?" 

A  faint  voice  answered  him. 

"It's  Molly,  Jordan!  .    .    .     Listen!     I'm  down  at  the 


224.  ROSE    O    PARADISE 

foot  of  the  hill.  Do  come  here !  I'm  nearly  frantic.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I'll  wait." 

Very  soon  Molly  saw  Jordan  crossing  the  street,  and 
she  went  to  meet  him. 

"Let's  walk,"  she  said  fretfully.     "I  can't  breathe." 

"If  you  feel  like  I  do,"  replied  Morse  moodily,  "I  pity 
you." 

He  led  her  to  a  small  park  where  they  sat  down  upon 
one  of  the  wooden  benches. 

"I'm  shocked  beyond  expression,"  said  Molly  wearily. 

"So  am  I,"  replied  Morse.  Then  picking  up  the  thread 
of  thought  which  had  troubled  him  all  the  evening,  he  went 
on,  "I  need  my  boy !  Every  night  I'm  haunted  by  dreams. 
I'd  give  up  my  plans  about  Jinnie  if  I  had  him.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  I  never!"  ejaculated  Molly. 

"The  trouble  with  you  is  you  haven't  any  heart,"  went 
on  Jordan.  "How  you  put  your  mind  on  anything  but 
finding  that  child  I  don't  know.  But  I  notice  you  manage 
to  keep  close  on  Theo's  heels  every  minute." 

"I  love  him,"  admitted  Molly. 

"Don't  you  love  your  son,  your  poor  little  lost  son?" 

"Of  course,  Jordan !  Don't  be  stupid !  .  .  .  Of  course 
I  do,  but  I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"And  you're  making  very  little  effort  to  find  him,  that's 
evident.  You've  seen  him,  and  I  haven't,  yet  I'd  give  half 
my  life  to  get  my  hands  on  him."  He  paused,  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  proceeded,  "I'll  warn  you  of  this  much,  Molly. 
When  I  do  find  him — and  find  him  I  will — you  won't  get 
a  chance  to  even  see  him." 

"Oh,  Jordan !"  gasped  Molly. 

"That's  right,"  he  insisted,  with  an  ugly  shrug.  "I  tell 
you,  Molly,  I've  always  been  impressed  with  the  idea  moth- 
ers cared  more  for  their  children  than  fathers,  but  I'm 
"M  r  that  now  since  knowing  you." 


WHAT  THEO  TOLD  HIS  FRIEND     225 

"Oh,  Jordan !"  repeated  Molly  faintly  once  more. 

Not  heeding  her  appealing  voice,  he  rushed  on,  "I'd  be 
willing  to  strangle  half  the  world  for  money  to  hire  detec- 
tives to  search  for  him.  But  as  I've  said  before,  I'd  let 
Jinnie  alone  if  I  had  him — and  work  for  him  with  my  two 
hands — if  I  had  to  dig  graves." 

Molly  turned  her  startled  eyes  upon  the  excited  man. 
She  had  never  known  the  depths  of  his  nature. 

"You  make  me  tired,"  he  proceeded  with  sarcasm. 
"What  in  hell  do  you  think  Theodore  could  see  in  you 
when  a  girl  like  Jinnie  cares  for  him?" 

"Why,  Jordan  Morse !"  stammered  the  woman.  "How 
dare  you  talk  to  me  like  that?" 

"Because  it's  true,"  replied  Jordan  hotly.  "You're  like 
a  lot  of  women — if  a  man  looks  sidewise  at  you,  you  think 
he's  bowled  over  with  your  charms.  Good  Heavens !  It's 
sickening !" 

"I  didn't  ask  you  here  to  talk  like  this,"  said  Molly. 

"What  if  you  didn't?"  snapped  Jordan.  "You  can  talk 
now  if  you  want  to !  I'm  going  home  in  five  minutes,  and 
I  want  some  money  before  I  go,  too." 

"I'll  give  you  some  to-morrow.  Now  what're  you  going 
to  do  about  Theodore?" 

"Well,  he  won't  marry  Jinnie,"  replied  Morse  slowly. 

"How  can  you  help  it?" 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  figure  out.  If  I  can  get 
her  away  from  Grandoken's,  she  won't  get  back,  I  can 
tell  you  that.  But  that  damn  cobbler  and  Theo'll  make 
such  a  devilish  row " 

"You  needn't  be  profane,"  chided  Molly. 

"A  woman  like  you's  enough  to  make  any  man  swear. 
.  .  .  Now  listen  to  me.  The  very  fact  that  Jinnie  ran 
away  from  home  shows  me  that  Tom  Singleton  told  her 
I  put  'im  in  a  mad  house !  Jinnie,  of  course,  told  Grand- 


226  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

okcn.  I've  got  to  get  that  cobbler — and — you've  got  to 
help  me  get  Jinnie " 

"Haven't  I  done  all  I  could?"  gasped  Molly.  "I  can't 
go  down  there  and  take  her  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  can 
I?" 

"No,  but  I  will!  Now  let's  go!  I  want  to  do  some 
pretty  tall  thinking  before  morning.  Once  let  those  two 
people  be  married  and  I'm  lost." 

"So  am  I,"  muttered  Molly,  swaying  at  his  vehement 
words. 

They  threaded  their  way  back  to  the  hill,  and  Morse 
left  Molly  at  her  gate.  As  she  walked  slowly  up  the  road, 
she  could  see  the  light  in  Theodore's  window,  and  his 
shadow  thrown  on  the  curtain. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

JORDAN   MORSE'S    PLAN 

THE  next  morning  Jordan  Morse  rose  after  a  sleepless 
night,  his  face  drawn  in  long,  deep-set  lines.  The  hours 
had  been  spent  in  futile  planning.  To  save  himself  from 
the  dire  consequences  of  his  misdeeds,  to  procure  the 
money  which  would  come  to  Jinnie  when  she  was  eighteen 
years  old,  was  the  one  idea  that  dinned  constantly  at  his 
brain.  She  and  the  cobbler  would  have  to  be  put  out  of 
the  way,  and  this  must  be  done  before  Theodore  announced 
publicly  his  intention  of  marrying  the  girl.  Jordan  had 
no  wish  to  break  his  friendship  with  Theodore,  so  he  coulc 
do  nothing  openly.  If  it  were  a  mere  case  of  filching 
what  little  he  could  from  Jinnie's  estate  before  she  be- 
came of  age,  it  would  be  an  easy  matter,  but  the  girl 
must  disappear.  How?  Where?  There  was  finality  in 
one  of  his  decisions  that  moment.  He  must  get  possession 
of  her  that  very  day.  Theodore  would  let  no  grass  grow 
under  his  feet.  He  would  marry  her  offhand,  and  educate 
her  afterwards. 

Jordan  wondered  vaguely  if  the  Jewish  cobbler  had  an 
enemy  among  the  shortwood  gatherers.  If  so,  and  the 
man  could  be  found,  it  would  bring  his  own  salvation. 

With  this  desire  uppermost  in  his  mind,  Jordan  wended 
his  way  to  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  passed  into  Para- 
dise Road,  and  paused  a  second  in  front  of  Lafe  Grando- 
ken's  shop  to  read  the  sign : 

227 


228  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Lafe  Grandokcn:  Cobbler  of  Folks'  and  Children's 
Shoes  and  Boots." 

His  lips  curled  at  the  crude  printing,  and  '  °  went  on 
past  the  remaining  shanties  to  the  entrance  to  the  marsh. 
At  the  path  where  Jinnie  had  so  many  times  brought  forth 
her  load  of  wood,  he  paused  again  and  glanced  about.  As 
far  north  as  he  could  see,  the  marsh  stretched  out  in  misty 
greenness.  The  place  seemed  to  be  without  a  human  be- 
ing, until  Jordan  suddenly  heard  the  crackling  of  branches, 
and  there  appeared  before  him  a  young  man  with  deep- 
set,  evil  eyes,  and  large,  pouting  mouth.  Upon  his  shoul- 
ders was  a  shortwood  strap. 

At  the  sight  of  Mr.  Morse,  the  wood  gatherer  hesitated, 
made  a  sort  of  obeisance,  and  proceeded  to  move  on.  Jor- 
dan stopped  him  with  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

"In  a  hurry?"  he  asked  good-naturedly. 

"Got  to  sell  my  wood,"  growled  the  man. 

Morse  appraised  him  with  an  analytical  glance. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  demanded. 

"Maudlin' Bates.     What's  yours?" 

"Jordan  Morse.  .  .  .  Just  wait  a  minute.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Down  came  the  shortwood  strap  on  the  ground.  Maud- 
lin scented  something  interesting. 

"I  got  to  sell  my  wood,"  he  repeated,  surly-toned. 
However,  he  nodded  his  head  when  Jordan  explained  that 
it  might  be  to  his  advantage  to  tarry  a  while. 

"I'll  pay  you  for  your  time,"  agreed  Morse  eagerly. 

Side  by  side  they  seated  themselves  on  a  fallen  tree. 
The  young  wood  gatherer  looked  wicked  enough  to  do  any- 
thing that  might  be  requested  of  him. 

"Are  you  married  ?"  asked  Morse. 

Maudlin's  face  darkened. 

"No,"  he  grunted  moodily. 


JORDAN  MORSE'S  PLAN         229 

"Ha !    In  love  ?    I  see !"  laughed  the  other. 

Maudlin  turned  sheepish  eyes  on  his  interrogator ;  then 
looked  down,  flushed,  and  finished: 

"I'd  a  been  married  all  right  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a 
damn  bloke  along  Paradise  Road,"  he  explained. 

"Yes  ?    Tell  me  about  it." 

"Oh,  what's  the  use !  Everybody's  stickin'  their  noses 
in  my  business,  and  it  ain't  nothin'  to  do  with  'em  uther." 

"I  might  help  you,"  suggested  Jordan,  seemingly  in- 
terested. 

"Ain't  anybody  c'n  help  me,"  sulked  Maudlin.  "Got  the 
richest  man  in  town  'gainst  me,  and  money's  what  makes 
the  mare  go." 

The  words  "richest  man"  startled  Morse,  but  he  only 
said,  "That's  so !  But  tell  me  just  the  same." 

"Aw,  it's  only  a  wench  I  wanted !  A  mutt  by  the  name 
of  King  butted  in  on  me." 

Jordan  Morse  mentally  congratulated  himself  that  he 
had  struck  the  right  nail  on  the  head  the  very  first  whack. 

To  gain  possession  of  Jinnie's  money  meant  finding  his 
boy,  and  that  was  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart. 

"You  might  tell  me  about  it,"  he  reiterated  slowly.  "I 
ought  to  be  able  to  help  you." 

"Naw,  you  can't !"  scoffed  Maudlin.  "My  pa  and  me's 
tried  for  a  long  time,  but  there  ain't  nothin'  doin'  with 
Jinnie.  She's  a  sure  devil,  Jinnie  is." 

Jordan's  blood  tingled  in  anticipation. 

"Is  that  the  girl's  name  ?"  he  queried. 

"Yes,  she's  a  niece  of  a  cobbler  up  the  track  yonder, 
and  as  pretty  a  little  minx  as  walks  Paradise  Road.  If  I 
had  'er  I'd  fix  her.  I'd  beat  her  till  she  minded  me,  I  c'n 
tell  y'  that !" 

"I  believe  beating's  the  way  to  subdue  most  women," 
said  Morse,  lighting  a  cigarette.  But  as  he  said  this,  a 


230  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

slight  smile  passed  over  his  face.  He  thought  of  Molly 
Merriweather  in  connection  with  the  man's  logic. 

"It's  the  way  pa  done  to  my  stepmother,"  observed 
Maudlin  presently.  "She  was  a  onery  woman  as  ever  you 
see,  but  pa  one  day  just  licked  her,  and  then  licked  'er 
every  day  till  now  she  don't  dast  but  mind  'im.  .  .  .  I'd 
do  that  with  Jinnie  if  I  had  'er." 

Morse  watched  rings  of  smoke  curl  upward  in  the  sum- 
mer air,  breaking  among  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

"Why  don't  you  steal  'er?"  he  demanded  at  length. 

Bates'  lower  ja\v  fell  down,  showing  discolored  teeth. 
He  stared  at  his  inquisitor  in  consternation.  Then  he 
dropped  back  into  his  former  slovenly  attitude. 

"I  never  thought  o'  that,"  said  he. 

"I'll  help  you,"  offered  Morse,  carelessly,  brushing 
ashes  from  his  coat  lapel. 

Maudlin  turned  his  eyes  slowly  from  their  straight  ahead 
position  until  they  came  directly  upon  the  handsome  face 
of  the  other  man.  Then  the  two  looked  long  and  steadily 
at  each  other. 

"What're  you  drivin'  at?"  blurted  Bates. 

"Only  that  I'm  also  interested  in  getting  Jinnie  away 
from  Grandoken.  The  fact  is  I  hate  King,  and  I  think  it's 
a  good  way  to  get  even  with  him." 

He  refrained,  however,  from  mentioning  he  was  Jinnie's 
relative. 

"D'you  have  me  in  mind  when  you  come  here?"  ques- 
tioned Bates. 

"No !  But  I  felt  sure  there'd  be  some  young  buck  round 
here  who'd  fallen  in  love  with  the  girl  before  this.  And  I 
found  you  without  asking " 

"I'd  make  her  beg  me  to  marry  her  after  I'd  had  'er  a 
week  or  two,"  interrupted  Maudlin,  with  dilating  pupils. 
"How  could  we  steal  *er?" 


231 

"Just  steal  'er,  I  said,"  replied  Morse. 

"And  I  said, 'How?'" 

Morse  waited  a  minute  until  Bates  repeated  once  more, 
"How,  mister?"  then  he  asked: 

"Can  you  run  a  motor  car?" 

"No,  but  my  pa  can." 

"My  God!  You  musn't  mention  this  to  any  one,  not 
even  your  father.  I'll  run  the  car  myself.  You  go  to  the 
cobbler  and  by  some  excuse  get  the  girl  in  the  car — after 
that  I'll  see  to  her." 

Bates  narrowed  his  eyes. 

"No,  you  won't  see  to  nothing"  he  growled  surlily.  "I 
don't  take  a  step  till  I  know  I  get  'er.  I'll  marry  'er  all 
right,  but  she's  got  to  want  to  marry  me  first." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  'er,"  replied  Morse  mo- 
rosely. "Marry  'er  or  not,  just  get  her,  that's  all!" 

"The  cobbler's  got  a  vixen  of  a  wife,"  complained 
Maudlin  at  length. 

"Persuade  her  to  go  somewhere,  can't  you?"  snapped 
Morse. 

"Yes,  that's  easy,"  drawled  Maudlin,  wobbling  his  head. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  talking  and  planning,  until  at 
length  Morse  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  handed  the 
other  man  some  money.  Maudlin  tucked  it  away  with  a 
grin. 

"Easy  cash,  eh?  What'd  you  say  the  dame's  name 
was  ?" 

"Merriweather — Molly  Merriweather.  She's  compan- 
ion to  Mr.  King's  mother." 

"Jinnie  fiddles  all  the  afternoon.  .  .  .  Mebbe  she 
won't  go." 

"Yes,  she  will.  Tell  her  Miss  Merriweather  wants  her 
to  arrange  a  surprise  for  Theodore  King.  Tell  'er  Miss 
Merriweather  wants  her  to  play." 


232  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Bates  laughed  evilly. 

"That'll  fix  the  huzzy.  Anything  about  that  damn  fid- 
dle'll  fetch  'er  every  time !  When  I  get  'er  I'll  bust  it  up 
for  kindlin'  wood." 

"Then  it's  settled,"  said  Morse,  rising.  "You  go  this 
afternoon  at  three  o'clock  to  Grandoken's,  tell  Jinnie 
what  I  told  you  to,  get  the  cobbler  into  an  argument,  and 
I'll  do  the  rest." 

"You'll  be  sure  to  be  there?" 

"Of  course !  What'd  you  think  I  am  ?  Keep  your  mouth 
shut !  Be  sure  of  that." 

"Three  o'clock,  then,"  said  Maudlin,  getting  up.  "So 
long!"  and  lifting  his  wood,  he  went  on  his  way  rejoicing. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

THE   MURDER 

AT  half  past  one  that  afternoon  a  messenger  appeared 
at  Grandoken's  with  a  letter  for  Jinnie. 

Peggy  called  the  girl  to  the  shop. 

"Boy's  got  something  for  you,"  she  declared.  "It's  a 
letter,  I  guess." 

Jinnie  held  out  her  hand  with  thumping  pulses,  took 
the  extended  pencil,  and  signed  her  name  to  a  blank  page. 
Then  the  boy  held  out  the  missive.  Of  course  it  was  from 
Theodore,  thought  Jinnie.  She  had  scarcely  slept  the 
night  before,  fitfully  dreaming  of  him.  Throwing  a  shy 
smile  at  Peg,  she  went  into  her  bedroom  and  shut  the  door. 
With  a  long,  ecstatic  breath,  she  set  herself  to  the  delight- 
ful task  of  slowly  perusing  the  beloved  epistle. 

"My  darling,"  Jinnie  read,  and  she  kissed  those  two 
words,  each  one  separately.  Then  she  whispered  them 
again,  "My  darling,"  and  read  on: 

"I'm  coming  this  afternoon  at  three  to  see  your  uncle, 
and  I  thought  you  might  like  me  to  talk  with  him  alone.  It 
will  be  a  simple  matter  for  you  to  take  the  little  blind  boy 
and  go  away  for  an  hour  or  so,  but  be  sure  and  return  at 
four.  By  that  time  I'll  have  our  arrangements  all  made, 
but  I  won't  go  until  I  see  you. 

"I  send  all  my  love  to  you,  my  sweetheart. 

"Your  own, 

"THEODORE." 

233 


234  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie  kissed  the  words  "my  sweetheart"  too,  and  then 
joyfully  slipped  the  letter  inside  her  dress.  She  daren't 
speak  of  his  coming,  for  how  could  she  conceal  her  happi- 
ness from  Lafe? 

At  two  o'clock,  she  said  to  Peggy : 

"May  I  take  Bobbie  for  a  little  walk,  dear?" 

The  blind  child  heard  the  request  and  scrambled  up. 

"Can  I  go,  Peggy?"  he  pleaded. 

Peg  glared  at  the  girl. 

"I  thought  you  always  fiddled  in  the  afternoon,"  she 
queried. 

"I  do  generally,"  acquiesced  Jinnie,  "but — to-day 

"Well,  go  'long,"  said  Peg,  not  very  graciously.  "I'm 
goin'  over  to  Miss  Bates'  a  while.  Maudlin  come  by  just 
now,  an*  said  would  I  come  over.  .  .  .  Get  back  early !" 

Jinnie  dressed  Bobbie  with  trembling  fingers.  The  boy 
noticed  she  could  scarcely  button  his  jacket. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jinnie  dear?"  he  whispered. 

Jinnie  was  just  slipping  on  his  cap  as  he  spoke.  She 
bent  and  kissed  him  passionately. 

"Nothing,  honey,  only  Jinnie's  happy,  very  happy." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  sighed  Bobbie,  with  a  smiling  wag.  "I'm 
happy  too.  Let's  go  on  the  hill,  and  take  Petey." 

"It'd  be  lovely,  dear,"  replied  the  girl. 

A  few  minutes  later,  with  the  little  dog  at  their  heels, 
they  were  wending  their  way  up  the  board  walk  to  the  hill. 

Mr.  Grandoken,  alone  in  his  shop,  worked  with  contented 
vigor.  The  days,  those  beautiful  summer  days,  were  bring- 
ing untold  joy  to  him.  Peggy  seemed  in  brighter  spirits, 
and  Jinnie's  radiant  face  made  Lafe  rejoice.  Little  Bob- 
bie's stars  were  always  shining  nowadays,  so  what  more 
could  the  dear  man  want?  As  he  sat  tip-tapping,  he  took 
himself  in  fancy  to  that  day  ahead  when  Heaven  would 
unfold  another  blessing  for  Peg — for  him.  He  put  down 


THE  MURDER  235 

his  hammer  and  glanced  out  of  the  window,  and  suddenly 
Maudlin  Bates  loomed  up,  with  all  his  hulking  swagger 
obliterating  the  shoemaker's  mental  bliss. 

Lafe  nodded  as  Maudlin  stepped  into  the  shop.  There 
was  an  unsusually  aggressive  expression  upon  the  young 
wood  gatherer's  face,  and  Mr.  Grandoken  refrained  from 
asking  him  to  sit  down.  Instead  he  questioned : 

"Brought  some  cobblin'?" 

"No,"  said  Bates.    "Wanted  to  talk  to  you ;  that's  all." 

"Hurry  up,  then,  'cause  I'm  busy." 

"Where's  Jinnie?"  queried  Maudlin. 

Swift  anger  changed  the  cobbler's  face. 

"What's  that  to  you?"  he  demanded.  "And  you  needn't 
be  drippin'  tobacco  juice  around  my  shop." 

"Won't  hurt  it,  I  guess,"  answered  Maudlin  insolently, 
sitting  down  heavily. 

With  every  passing  minute,  Lafe  was  growing  more  and 
more  enraged. 

"Yap  me  your  business  and  get  out,"  he  ordered,  pick- 
ing up  his  hammer. 

He  settled  his  eyes  on  the  sodden  face  before  him,  and 
for  a  minute  or  two  each  plumbed  the  strength  of  the 
other. 

"I'm  goin'  to  marry  Jinnie,"  announced  Maudlin,  draw- 
ing his  large  feet  together  and  clasping  his  fingers  over 
his  knees. 

The  cobbler  deliberately  placed  the  hammer  beside  him 
once  more  and  leaned  back  against  the  wall. 

"Who  said  so?"  he  asked. 

"I  do,"  defied  Maudlin,  swaggering. 

"Is  that  what  you  come  to  say  to  me?" 

"Yep." 

"Well,  now  you're  done  with  your  braggin',  get  out, 
an'  get  out  quick." 


236  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

But  Maudlin  didn't  move. 

"I  said  to  scoot,"  said  Lafe  presently,  in  suppressed 
tones.  He  was  magnificent  in  his  ferocity. 

"I  heard  you !"  observed  Maudlin,  still  sitting,  though 
a  little  cowed  in  his  former  egotistical  spirit. 

Lafe  picked  up  the  hammer  and  pounded  frantically 
on  the  sole  of  a  shoe. 

"I'm  goin'  to  have  money,"  muttered  Maudlin  when  the 
cobbler  paused  for  a  few  nails. 

As  Lafe  proceeded  with  his  work  silently,  Maudlin  said : 

"I'll  marry  Jinnie  and  take  the  empty  shack  next  to 
pa's.  I  got  money,  I  said." 

Lafe's  lips  were  moving  rapidly,  but  the  other  could 
not  hear  what  he  was  saying.  The  fact  was,  the  cobbler 
was  asking  for  strength  and  self-control. 

"Where's  Jinnie?"  demanded  Maudlin  again. 

"She  ain't  here,"  said  Lafe,  "an*  I  want  you  to  get  out 
before  she  comes." 

He  said  this  more  gently,  because  his  muttered  prayers 
had  somewhat  assuaged  his  rage. 

Just  then  a  motor  car  dashed  into  the  little  lane  at  the 
side  of  the  house,  and  Maudlin  knew  that  Morse  had  ar- 
rived. 

"I'll  go  when  I  see  Jinnie,"  he  insisted,  sinking  deeper 
into  his  chair,  "I  want  to  tell  'er  somethin'  about  a  party." 

"Ain't  no  show  o'  your  seein'  'er  to-day,"  replied  Lafe. 
"I  bargained  with  your  pa  about  you  lettin'  my  girl  alone, 
and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Pa's  cobblin'  ain't  nothin'  to  do  with  me,"  observed 
Maudlin  darkly.  "I'll  wait  for  'er !" 

At  that  minute  Theodore  King's  car  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  shop,  and  he  stepped  out.  Maudlin  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  and  set  his  teeth  sharply.  He'd  have  it  out  with 
this  man,  too.  They  might  as  well  all  understand  what 


THE  MURDER  237 

his  intentions  were.  He  wondered  if  Morse,  from  his  point 
of  vantage,  had  seen  Mr.  King  arrive. 

When  Theodore  swung  into  the  shop,  he  paused  at  the 
sight  of  Bates  and  frowned.  He  brought  to  mind  the 
chastening  he  had  given  the  fellow,  and  how  Jinnie  had 
suffered  through  his  brutality. 

Lafe  smiled  cordially  at  the  young  man  and  asked  him 
to  be  seated. 

"Jinnie's  out,"  stated  the  cobbler. 

"I  know  it !"  responded  Theodore,  taking  a  chair.  "I've 
come  to  have  a  talk  with  you."  Then  looking  from  Mr. 
Grandoken  to  Maudlin,  he  queried,  "Will  you  soon  be  dis- 
engaged?" 

Lafe  nodded. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said  disinterestedly. 

Lafe  always  disciplined  himself  after  a  siege  with  his 
temper. 

"He  won't  be  alone  till  I  get  through  with  'im,"  grunteid 
Maudlin,  with  an  ugly  expression.  "I  been  tellin'  'im  I'm 
goin'  to  marry  Jinnie." 

Lafe  straightened  with  a  throat  sound  that  boded  no 
good  for  the  speaker,  and  Theodore  got  swiftly  to  his 
feet. 

"Don't  repeat  what  you've  just  said,"  the  latter  gritted 
between  his  teeth,  whirling  on  Maudlin. 

Bates  shot  out  of  his  chair  at  this  command. 

"My  tongue's  my  own,"  he  roared,  "and  Jinnie'll  be  glad 
to  marry  me  before " 

Theodore's  big  fist  swept  out,  striking  the  man  full  in 
the  face,  and  Maudlin  dropped  like  an  ox  hit  with  an  axe, 
but  he  was  on  his  feet  in  another  minute.  His  rapidly 
swelling  face  was  blanched  with  rage. 

"Damn  you,  twicet  and  three  times  damn  you " 

Lafe  made  an  ejaculation,  and  neither  one  of  the  three 


238  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

men  noticed  that  the  door  to  the  little  hall  at  the  back 
had  opened  a  trifle. 

Jordan  Morse  was  peering  in  upon  the  enraged  trio. 
He  saw  the  man  he'd  hired  to  help  him  take  the  first  knock 
down  and  get  up  swiftly.  He  saw  Theodore  King  make 
another  dive  at  the  wood  gatherer.  The  cobbler  was  in 
direct  range  of  Jordan's  vision,  and  he  slipped  his  hand 
into  his  pocket,  from  which  he  took  a  revolver.  Two  quick, 
short  cracks,  and  the  pistol  came  flying  through  the  room 
and  landed  near  the  cobbler's  bench.  Then  the  kitchen 
door  slammed  suddenly.  Theodore  staggered  forward  and 
sank  slowly  to  the  floor,  while  Maudlin  fell  headlong  with- 
out a  cry. 

As  in  a  maze  Lafe  heard  a  motor  leap  away  like  a  mad 
thing.  Through  the  window  he  could  see  Theodore's  car 
where  the  young  man  had  left  it.  He  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  rise,  but  sank  back  with  a  shuddering  groan.  He 
forced  his  eyes  to  Bates,  who  was  close  to  the  shop  door, 
then  dragged  them  backward  to  Mr.  King,  whose  head  was 
almost  under  his  bench.  Each  had  received  a  bullet,  and 
both  lay  breathing  unconsciously.  The  cobbler  stooped 
over  and  placed  his  hand  under  Theodore's  head  to 
straighten  it  a  little.  For  a  full  minute  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  loud  rattling  in  Maudlin's  throat  and  the 
steady,  laborious  breath  of  the  man  at  his  feet. 

Sudden  tears  diffused  the  cobbler's  eyes,  and  he  leaned 
over  and  tenderly  touched  the  damp  forehead  of  Jinnie's 
friend. 

"He's  given  His  angels  charge  over  thec,  boy,"  he  mur- 
mured, just  as  Jinnie,  leading  Bobbie  by  the  hand,  walked 
in. 

The  girl  took  one  impetuous  step  forward  and  noted 
Lafe's  white,  agonized  face.  Then  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  stricken  men  on  the  floor.  Her  tongue  refused  its 


THE  MURDER  239 

office,  and  dropping  the  blind  child's  fingers,  she  came 
quickly  forward. 

"Call  help  !  Hurry !  Get  a  doctor !"  gasped  Lafe,  and 
Jinnie,  without  saying  a  word,  rushed  out. 

Afterward  she  could  not  measure  with .  accuracy  the 
events  of  that  afternoon.  Peggy  came  home  and  put  the 
terrified  Bobbie  in  bed,  telling  him  curtly  to  stay  there 
until  she  allowed  him  to  get  up.  Several  doctors  rushed 
in  and  examined  both  Theodore  and  Maudlin.  Not  one 
word  had  escaped  Jinnie's  pale  lips  until  the  wounded 
men  were  removed  from  the  shop.  Then  she  sank  at  the 
cobbler's  feet. 

"Will  he  die  ?"  she  whispered,  in  awe-stricken  tones. 

"Maudlin's  dyin',"  replied  the  cobbler,  with  bowed  head, 
"an'  Mr.  King's  awful  bad  off,  the  doctor  says." 

Jinnie  went  to  Lafe's  side  and  put  her  arm  about  his 
neck,  and  as  if  it  had  never  been,  their  joy  was  blotted 
out  by  the  hand  of  a  bloody  tragedy. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

THE  COBBLER'S  ARREST 

TEARING  away  from  Paradise  Road,  Jordan  Morse 
drove  madly  up  the  hill.  No  one  had  seen  him  come;  no 
one  had  seen  him  go.  He  must  get  in  touch  with  Molly 
immediately.  In  his  nervous  state  he  had  to  confide  in 
some  one. 

Molly  had  settled  Mrs.  King  in  an  easy  chair  and  was 
on  the  lawn,  pacing  restlessly  to  and  fro,  when  Jordan 
swiftly  drove  his  machine  through  the  gate  and  up  to  the 
veranda.  Catching  one  hasty  glimpse  of  his  haggard  face, 
the  woman  knew  something  extraordinary  had  happened. 

"I've  put  my  foot  in  it,  all  right,"  he  ejaculated,  jump- 
ing to  the  soft  grass.  "My  God!  I  don't  know  what  I 
have  done !" 

Molly's  face  blanched. 

"Tell  me  quickly,"  she  implored. 

Jordan  repeated  his  conversation  with  Maudlin  Bates, 
stating  how  his  plans  had  suddenly  matured  on  hearing 
the  wood  gatherer  denounce  King  and  Grandoken. 

Then  he  proceeded  a  little  more  calmly. 

"It  seems  I  hadn't  been  at  the  side  door  of  Grand- 
oken's  shack  a  minute  before  Theodore  drove  up." 

Molly's  hands  came  together. 

"Theodore?"  she  repeated  breathlessly. 

"Yes,  and  the  Bates  man  was  with  Grandoken.  I  heard 
loud  talking,  stole  into  the  little  hall,  and  found  the  back 

240 


THE   COBBLER'S   ARREST        241 

part  of  the  house  empty.  Jinnie  wasn't  there ;  at  least  I 
didn't  see  her.  Bates  had  already  Inveigled  Mrs.  Grand- 
oken  away.  I  opened  the  door  into  the  cobbler's  shop 
just  as  Theo  was  striking  Bates  in  the  face.  I  waited  a 
minute,  and  as  Theo  struck  out  again,  I  fired " 

"Fired !"  gasped  Molly. 

"Yes,  at  Grandoken.    I  wanted  to  kill  him " 

"But  Theo — you  might  have  hit  Theodore,  Jordan." 

"But  I  didn't,  I  tell  you !  I'm  sure  I  didn't.  If  I  hit 
any  one,  'twas  Bates  or  the  cobbler.  .  .  .  Get  back  near 
the  veranda  for  fear  Theodore  'phones." 

No  sooner  had  the  words  left  his  lips  than  a  bell  sounded 
from  the  house.  Molly  ran  up  the  steps.  As  she  took 
down  the  receiver,  she  dropped  it,  but  picked  it  up  again. 

"Halloa,"  she  called  faintly. 

"Is  this  Theodore  King's  home?"  shouted  a  voice. 

"Yes." 

"Mr.  King's  had  an  accident.  He's  in  the  hospital. 
Break  the  news  carefully  to  his  mother,  please." 

Dazedly,  Molly  slipped  the  receiver  back  to  its  hook. 
She  stumbled  to  the  porch  and  down  the  steps,  her  face 
ashen  with  anguish. 

"You  shot  Theo,  Jordan,"  she  cried  hysterically. 

"Shut  your  head,"  growled  Morse,  glancing  furtively 
about.  "Don't  talk  so  loud.  .  .  .  Now  then,  listen! 
There'll  be  hell  to  pay  for  this.  But  Bates  won't  peach, 
and  I'm  sure  I  clipped  the  cobbler's  wings.  Keep  quiet  till 
you  hear  from  me." 

He  sprang  again  into  the  machine  and  was  gone  before 
the  woman  could  gather  her  wits  together. 

She  turned  and  went  slowly  up  the  steps.  It  was  her 
duty  to  break  the  news  to  Theodore's  mother — she  who 
knew  so  much,  but  dared  to  tell  so  little!  How  to  open 
the  conversation  with  the  gentle  sufferer  she  knew  not. 


242  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Mrs.  King  smiled  a  greeting  as  she  entered,  but  at  the 
sight  of  Molly's  face,  her  book  dropped  to  the  floor. 

"What  is  it?"  she  stammered. 

Molly  knelt  down  beside  her. 

"Probably  very  little,"  she  said  hastily.  "Don't  get  ex- 
cited— please — but — but " 

"It's  Theodore!"  gasped  the  mother,  intuitively. 

"He's  hurt  a  little,  just  a  little,  and  they've  taken  him 
to  the  hospital." 

Mrs.  King  tried  to  rise,  but  dropped  back  weakly. 

"He's  badly  hurt  or  he'd  come  home." 

"I'll  find  out,"  offered  Molly  eagerly.  Then  as  an  af- 
terthought, "I'll  go  if  you'll  promise  me  to  stay  very  quiet 
until  I  get  back." 

"I  promise,"  said  Mrs.  King,  sobbing,  "but  go  quickly ! 
I  simply  can't  be  still  when  I'm  uncertain." 

In  another  house  of  lesser  proportions,  a  girl  was 
huddled  in  a  chair,  gazing  at  Lafe  Grandoken. 

"An*  they  told  you  over  the  telephone  he  was  dyin'?" 
he  demanded,  looking  at  Jinnie. 

"Yes,"  gulped  Jinnie,  "and  Maudlin's  dead.  The  hos- 
pital people  say  Mr.  King  can't  live."  The  last  words 
were  stammered  and  scarcely  audible.  "Lafe,  who  shot 
him?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Lafe. 

"Didn't  you  see  who  had  the  gun?"  persisted  the  girl, 
wiping  her  eyes. 

4%.Mr.  King  didn't  have  it ;  nuther  did  Maudlin.  It  came 
from  over  there,  an'  I  heard  a  car  drive  away  right 
after." 

Jinnie  shook  her  head  hopelessly.  It  was  all  so  mys- 
terious that  her  heart  was  gripped  with  fright.  A  short 
time  before,  an  officer  had  been  there  cross-questioning 
Lafe  suspiciously.  Then  he  had  gone  away  with  the 


pistol  in  his  pocket.  She  stared  out  of  the  window,  fear- 
shadowed.  In  a  twinkling  her  whole  love  world  had 
tumbled  about  her  ears,  and  she  listened  as  the  cobbler 
told  her  once  more  the  story  of  the  hour  she'd  been  away 
with  Bobbie. 

"There're  two  men  coming  here  right  now,"  she  said 
suddenly,  getting  up.  "Lafe,  there's  Burns,  the  cop  on 
this  beat." 

"They're  wantin*  to  find  out  more,  I  presume,"  replied 
Lafe  wearily. 

As  the  men  entered  the  shop,  Jinnie  backed  away  and 
stood  with  rigid  muscles.  She  was  dizzily  frightened  at 
the  sight  of  the  gruff  officers,  who  had  not  even  saluted 
Lafe. 

The  foremost  man  was  a  stranger  to  them  both. 

"Are  you  Lafe  Grandoken?"  he  demanded,  looking  at 
the  cobbler. 

"Yes,"  affirmed  Lafe. 

The  man  flourished  a  paper  with  staid  importance. 

"I'm  the  sheriff  of  this  county,  an'  I've  a  warrant  for 
your  arrest  for  murderin'  Maudlin  Bates,"  he  sing-songed. 

Jinnie  sprang  forward. 

"Lafe  didn't  shoot  'im,"  she  cried  desperately. 

The  man  eyed  her  critically. 

"Did  you  do  it,  kid?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"No,  I  wasn't  here!"  answered  Jinnie,  short-breathed. 

"Then  how'd  you  know  he  didn't  do  it  ?" 

For  a  moment  Jinnie  was  nonplussed.  Then  she  came 
valiantly  to  her  friend's  aid. 

"I  know  he  didn't.  Of  course  he  didn't,  you  wicked, 
wicked  men !  Don't  you  dare  touch  'im,  don't  you  dare !" 

"Well,  he's  got  to  go  with  me,"  affirmed  the  man  in 
ugly,  sneering  tones.  "Whistle  for  the  patrol,  Burns, 
and  we'll  wheel  the  Jew  in!" 


244  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

Jinnie  heard,  as  in  a  hideous  dream,  the  shrill,  trilling 
whistle;  heard  the  galloping  of  horses  and  saw  a  long 
black  wagon  draw  up  to  the  steps. 

When  the  two  sullen  men  laid  violent  hold  of  the  wheel- 
chair, Jinnie's  terrified  fingers  reached  toward  the  cobbler, 
and  the  sheriff  gave  her  hand  a  sharp  blow.  Lafe  ut- 
tered an  inarticulate  cry,  and  at  that  moment  Jinnie 
forgot  "Happy  in  Spite,"  forgot  Lafe's  angels  and  the 
glory  of  them,  and  sprang  like  a  tiger  at  the  man  who 
had  struck  her.  She  flung  one  arm  about  his  neck  and 
fought  him  with  tooth  and  nails.  So  surprised  was  Police- 
man Burns  that  he  stood  with  staring  eyes,  making  no 
move  to  rescue  his  mate  from  the  tigerish  girl. 

"Damn  you!  Damn  you!"  screamed  Jinnie.  "I'll  kill 
you  before  you  take  'im." 

Lafe  cried  out  again,  calling  her  name  gently,  implor- 
ingly, and  tenderly.  When  his  senses  returned,  Burns 
grasped  Jinnie  in  his  arms  and  held  her  firmly.  There 
she  stood  panting,  trying  to  break  away  from  the  police- 
man's detaining  fingers.  She  looked  half  crazed  in  the 
dimming  late  afternoon  light. 

"Merciful  God,  but  you're  a  tartar,  miss!"  said  the 
sheriff  ruefully.  "Well,  if  she  ain't  clawed  the  blood 
clean  through  my  skin!" 

"She  comes  of  bad  stock,"  exclaimed  Burns.  "You 
can't  expect  any  more  of  Jews.  Go  on ;  I'll  hold  'er  till 
you  and  Mike  get  the  chair  out." 

Hearing  this,  Jinnie  began  to  sob  hysterically  and 
make  more  desperate  efforts  to  free  herself.  The  viselike 
fingers  pressed  deeper  into  her  tender  flesh. 

"Here,  huzzy,  you  needn't  be  tryin'  none  of  your  muck 
on  me,"  said  Burns.  "Keep  still  or  I'll  break  your  arm." 

Jinnie  sickened  with  pain,  and  her  eyes  sought  Lafe's. 
If  he'd  been  in  his  coffin,  he  couldn't  have  been  whiter. 


THE   COBBLER'S   ARREST        245 

"Jinnie,"  he  chided  brokenly,  "you've  forgot  what  I  told 
you,  ain't  you,  lass?" 

Through  the  suffering,  tender  mind  flashed  the  words 
he'd  taught  her. 

"There  aren't  any  angels,  Lafe,"  she  sobbed.  "There 
aren't  any." 

Then,  as  another  man  entered  the  shop,  she  cried: 
"Don't  take  'im,  oh,  please  don't  take  'im,  not  now,  not 
just  yet,  not  till  Peggy  gets  back." 

Turning  around  in  his  chair,  Lafe  looked  up  at  the 
men. 

"Could — I — say — good-bye — to  my — wife?"  he  asked 
brokenly. 

"Where  is  she?"  demanded  the  officer. 

"Gone  to  the  store,"  answered  Lafe.  "She'll  be  here 
in  a  minute." 

"Let  'er  come  to  the  jail,"  snapped  the  angry  sheriff. 
"She'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  say  good-bye  there." 

At  that  they  tugged  the  chair  through  the  narrow 
door.  Then  two  boards  were  found  upon  which  to  roll 
it  into  the  patrol. 

Inside  the  shop  Jinnie  was  quiet  now,  save  for  the  con- 
vulsions that  rent  her  body.  She  looked  up  at  the  man 
holding  her. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  implored.     "I'll  be  good,  awful  good." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  pleading  blue  eyes  that  made  the 
officer  release  her  arms.  Jinnie  sprang  to  the  door,  and 
as  Lafe  saw  her,  he  smiled,  oh  such  a  smile !  The  girl  ran 
madly  to  him. 

"Lafe !     Lafe !"  she  screamed.     "Lafe  dear !" 

Lafe  bent,  touched  the  shining  black  curls,  and  a  glori- 
fied expression  spread  over  his  face. 

"He's  given  His  angels  charge  over  you,  lass,"  he 
murmured,  "an'  it's  a  fact  you're  not  to  forget." 


246  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Then  they  rolled  him  up  the  planks  and  into  the  wagon. 
With  clouded  eyes  Jinnie  watched  the  black  patrol  bowl 
along  toward  the  bridge,  and  as  it  halted  a  moment  on 
Paradise  Road  to  allow  an  engine  to  pass,  the  cobbler 
leaned  far  out  of  his  wheel  chair  and  waved  a  thin  white 
hand  at  her.  Then  like  a  deer  she  ran  ahead  until  she 
came  within  speaking  distance  of  him.  The  engine  passed 
with  a  shrieking  whistle,  and  the  horses  received  a  sharp 
crack  and  galloped  off.  Jinnie  flung  out  her  arms. 

"Lafe!"  she  screamed.  "I'll  stay  with  Peg  till  you 
come." 

He  heard  the  words,  waved  once  more,  and  the  wagon 
(disappeared  over  the  bridge. 

For  full  ten  minutes  after  Lafe  was  taken  away,  Jinnie 
sat  in  the  shop  like  one  turned  to  stone.  The  thing  that 
roused  her  was  the  side  door  opening  and  shutting.  She 
got  up  quickly  and  went  into  the  little  hall,  closing  the 
shop  door  behind  her.  Mrs.  Grandoken,  with  bundles  in 
her  hands,  was  entering  the  kitchen.  Jinnie  staggered 
after  her. 

"Peggy,"  murmured  Jinnie,  throwing  her  arms  about 
the  stooped  shoulders.  "You'll  be  good " 

It  was  as  if  she  had  said  it  to  Bobbie,  tenderly,  low- 
pitched,  and  imploring.  Peg  seemed  so  miserable  and 
thin. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  kid?"  growled  Mrs. 
Grandoken. 

"The  town  folks,"  groaned  Jinnie,  "the  town  folks've 
made  a  mistake,  an  awful  mistake." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  turned  sunken  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"What  mistake've  they  made?" 

Jinnie's  throat  hurt  so  she  couldn't  say  any  more. 

"What  mistake?"  asked  Peg  again. 

"They  think  Lafe  shot " 


THE   COBBLER'S   ARREST        247 

Peggy  wheeled  on  the  hesitating  speaker.  Shoving  her 
to  one  side,  she  stalked  through  the  door.  Jinnie  flew 
after  her. 

"Peggy,  Peg,  he'll  come  back!" 

Mrs.  Grandoken  opened  the  shop  door  and  the  empty 
room  with  overturned  chairs  and  scattered  tools  told 
its  silent,  eloquent  tale. 

"Honey,"  whispered  Jinnie.    "Honey  dear " 

"God's  Jesus,"  muttered  Peg,  with  roving  eyes,  "God's 
Jesus,  save  my  man !" 

Then  she  slid  to  the  floor,  and  when  she  once  more 
opened  her  eyes,  Jinnie  was  throwing  water  in  her  face. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

ALONE    IN    THE    SHOP 

LATER  in  the  day  Jordan  Morse  and  Molly  Merri- 
weather  met  at  the  hospital.  They  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  not  daring  to  mention  the  terrible  conster- 
nation that  possessed  them. 

"Have  you  heard  anything?"  murmured  Molly,  glanc- 
ing about  before  speaking. 

Jordan  nodded  his  head. 

"It's  awful,"  he  said.  "Bates  is  dead — if  you  say  a 
word,  I'm  lost." 

"Depend  on  me,"  Molly  assured  him.  "Oh,  how  dread- 
ful it  all  is!  Theodore  must  get  well,"  she  continued  in 
agitation. 

"Well,  he  won't!"  snarled  Morse.  Then  he  went  on 
passionately.  "Molly,  I  swear  I  didn't  intend  to  shoot 
him.  I  was  mad  clear  through  and  aimed  at  the  cobbler." 

"Hush!"  warned  Molly.     "Some  one's  coming." 

A  young  doctor  approached  them  with  gravity. 

"Mr.  King?"  murmured  Molly. 

"Is  slowly  failing.    The  bullet  found  a  vital  spot ' 

"And  the  other  man — Bates?  Is  it  true  he's  dead?" 
interjected  Morse  eagerly. 

"Yes,  he  died  shortly  after  the  tragedy.  It's  all  a  mys- 
tery, but  I  think  they've  arrested  the  guilty  man." 

Both  listeners  stared  at  the  speaker  as  if  he'd  told 
them  the  world  had  come  to  an  end.  It  was  Morse  who 
managed  to  mutter: 

248 


ALONE   IN  THE   SHOP  249 

"What  man?" 

"Haven't  you  heard?  They've  arrested  Lafe  Grando- 
ken.  The  shooting  occurred  in  his  cobbling  shop,  and  the 
gun  was  found  as  proof  of  his  crime.  Of  course,  like  all 
Jews,  he's  trying  to  invent  a  story  in  his  own  favor.  .  .  . 
He's  undoubtedly  the  criminal." 

Not  until  they  were  in  the  street  did  Jordan  express 
himself  to  Molly. 

"What  heavenly  luck !  So  they've  arrested  Grandoken. 
If  Theodore  lives " 

Molly  clutched  his  arm. 

"Oh,  he  must !  He  must !  Jordan !  I  shall  die  myself 
if  he  doesn't." 

Jordan  Morse  turned  sharply  upon  her. 

"Don't  throw  a  fit  right  here.  You're  not  the  only 
one  suffering.  My  atmosphere  is  cleared  a  little  with 
Grandoken's  arrest,  though." 

"But  you've  suj.  to  reckon  with  Jinnie,"  ventured 
Molly. 

"Easy  now,"  returned  the  man.  "I'll  get  her  before 
Theodore  is  well." 

"Take  me  home,"  pleaded  Molly  wearily.  "Such  a 
(day  as  this  is  enough  to  ruin  all  the  good  looks  a  woman 
ever  had." 

Disgustedly,  Jordan  flung  open  the  motor  door. 

"Well,  my  God,  you've  got  about  as  much  brains  and 
heart  as  a  chipmunk.  Climb  in!" 

Later,  as  the  two  separated,  Morse  said,  with  low- 
pitched  voice : 

"Now,  then,  I'm  going  to  plan  to  get  Jinnie.  Might's 

well  be  hung  for  a  sheep's  a  lamb I'm  just  as  well 

satisfied  that  Bates  is  dead.  After  I  secure  Jinnie — then 
for  my  boy.  God !  I  can  scarcely  wait  until  I  have  him." 

Miss  Merriweather  went  into  the  house  in  utter  ex- 


250  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

haustion,  nor  did  she  pause  to  take  off  her  hat  before 
telling  Theodore's  mother  the  little  she  could  to  encourage 
her. 

If  Molly  was  suffering  over  the  crime  which  had  sent 
the  man  she  loved  to  the  hospital,  Jinnie  was  going  through 
thrice  that  agony  for  the  same  man.  He  had  almost 
met  his  death  in  coming  to  tell  Lafe  of  their  love,  and 
had  been  struck  down  in  his  mission  by  an  unknown  hand. 
Jinnie  knew  it  was  an  unknown  hand,  because  just  as  sure 
as  she  lived,  so  sure  was  she  that  Lafe  had  not  committed 
the  crime.  The  cobbler  had  explained  it  all  to  her,  and 
she  believed  him.  Peggy  was  dreadfully  ill!  After  her 
fainting  spell,  the  girl  put  Mrs.  Grandoken  to  bed,  and 
then  went  to  comfort  Bobbie.  She  found  him  huddled  on 
his  pillow,  clasping  Happy  Pete  in  his  arms.  The  small 
face  was  streaked  with  tears  and  half  buried  from  sight. 

"Bobbie,"  called  Jinnie  softly. 

The  yellow  head  came  up  with  a  jerk,  the  flashing  grey 
eyes  begging  in  mute  helplessness  an  explanation  for  these 
unusual  happenings. 

"I'm  here,  Jinnie.     What's  the  matter  with  everybody  ?" 

Jinnie  lay  down  beside  him. 

"Peggy's  sick,"  she  said,  not  daring  to  say  more. 

"Where's  Lafe?" 

An  impulsive  arm  went  across  the  child's  body. 

"He's  gone  away  for  a  little  while,  dear,  just  for  a 
few  days!" 

Something  in  her  tones  made  Bobbie  writhe.  With  the 
acuteness  of  one  with  his  affliction,  his  ears  had  caught 
the  commotion  in  the  shop. 

"But  he  can't  walk,  Jinnie.  Did  he  walk?"  he  de- 
manded. 

-\o." 

"How'd  he  go,  in  a  motor  car?" 


ALONE  IN  THE  SHOP  251 

"No,"  repeated  the  girl. 

"Some  one  took  him,  then?"  demanded  Bobbie. 

"Yes." 

"In  a  wagon?" 

By  this  time  she  could  feel  the  tip-tap  of  his  anguished 
heart  against  hers. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  but  that  was  all.  She  felt  that 
to  tell  the  truth  then  would  be  fatal  to  the  throbbing 
young  life  in  her  arms. 

"Bobbie,"  she  whispered,  cuddling  him.  "Lafe's  coming 
home  soon.  Be  a  good  boy  and  lie  still  and  rest.  Jinnie'll 
come  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

She  crawled  off  the  bed,  and  went  to  the  shop  door. 
By  main  force  she  had  to  drag  her  unwilling  feet  over 
the  threshold.  She  stood  for  two  tense  minutes  scanning 
the  room  with  pathetic  keenness.  Then  she  walked  for- 
ward and  stood  beside  the  bench.  It  seemed  to  be  senti- 
ently  alive  with  the  magnetism  of  the  man  who  had  lately 
occupied  it.  Jinnie  sat  on  it,  a  cry  bursting  from  her 
white  lips.  She  wanted  to  be  with  him,  but  she  had  prom- 
ised to  take  care  of  Peggy,  and  she  would  rather  die  than 
betray  that  trust.  Her  eyes  fell  upon  two  dark  spots 
upon  the  floor,  one  near  the  door  and  one  almost  under 
her  feet.  She  shuddered  as  she  realized  it  was  blood. 
Then  she  went  to  the  kitchen  for  water  and  washed  it 
away.  This  done,  she  gathered  up  Lafe's  tools,  rever- 
ently kissing  each  one  as  she  laid  it  in  the  box  under  the 
bench.  How  lonely  the  shop  looked  in  the  gathering 
gloom !  To  dissipate  the  lengthening  shadows  in  the  corn- 
ers, she  lighted  the  lamp.  The  flickering  flame  brought 
back  keenly  the  hours  she  had  spent  with  Lafe — hours  in 
which  she  had  learned  so  much.  The  whole  horror  that 
had  fallen  on  the  household  rushed  over  her  being  like  a 
tidal  wave  over  a  city.  Misery  of  the  most  exquisite  kind 


252  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

was  tearing  her  heart  in  pieces,  stabbing  her  throat  with 
long,  forklike  pains.  Tense  throat  muscles  caught  and 
clung  together,  choking  back  her  breath  until  she  lay 
down,  full  length,  upon  the  cobbler's  bench. 

In  poignant  grief  she  thought  of  the  expression  of 
Lafe's  face  when  he  had  been  wheeled  from  the  room.  His 
voice  came  back  through  the  faint  light. 

"He  has  given  His  angels  charge  over  thee,  lassie." 
But  how  could  she  believe  in  the  angels,  with  Lafe  in 
prison  and  Theodore  dying?  She  got  up,  spent  and 
worn  with  weeping,  and  went  in  to  Peggy,  sitting  for  a 
few  minutes  beside  the  agonized  woman,  but  she  could  not 
say  one  word  to  make  that  agony  less.  In  losing  the  two 
strong  friends,  she  had  lost  her  faith  too.  Peg's  face 
was  turned  to  the  wall,  and  as  she  didn't  answer  when 
the  girl  laid  her  hand  on  her  shoulder,  Jinnie  tiptoed  out. 
In  her  own  room  she  lay  for  seemingly  century-long  hours 
with  Bobbie  pressed  tightly  to  her  breast. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

JINNIE    EXPLAINS    THE    DEATH    CHAIR    TO    BOBBIE 

SEVEN  days  had  dragged  their  seemingly  slow  length 
from  seconds  to  minutes,  from  minutes  to  hours,  from 
hours  to  days.  In  the  cobbler's  shop  Jinnie  and  Bobbie 
waited  in  breathless  anxiety  for  Peg's  return.  She  had 
gone  to  the  district  attorney  for  permission  to  visit  her 
husband  in  his  cell.  Nearly  three  hours  had  passed  since 
her  departure,  and  few  other  thoughts  were  in  the  mind 
of  the  girl  save  the  passionate  wish  for  news  of  her  two 
beloved  friends.  She  was  standing  by  the  window  look- 
ing out  upon  the  tracks,  and  as  a  heavy  train  steamed 
past  she  counted  the  cars  with  melancholy  rhythm.  There 
came  to  her  mind  the  day  she  had  found  Bobbie  on  the 
hill,  and  all  the  sweet  moments  since  when  the  cobbler 
had  been  with  them.  She  choked  back  a  sob  that  made  a 
little  noise  in  her  tightened  throat. 

Bobbie  stumbled  his  unseeing  way  to  her  and  shoved  a 
small,  cold  hand  into  hers. 

"Jinnie's  sad,"  he  murmured.  "Bobbie's  stars're  blink- 
in'  out." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  and  Jinnie  had  come  to  an  under- 
standing that  Bobbie  should  not  know  of  the  cobbler's 
trouble,  so  the  strong  fingers  closed  over  the  little  ones, 
but  the  girl  did  not  speak.  At  length  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Peg,  who,  with  bent  head,  was  stumbling  across  the 
tracks.  Peggy  had  failed  in  her  mission!  Jinnie  knew 

253 


254  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

it  because  the  woman  did  not  look  up  as  she  came  within 
sight  of  the  house. 

As  Mrs.  Grandoken  entered  slowly,  Jinnie  turned  to  her. 

"You  didn't  see  him?"  she  said  in  a  tone  half  exclama- 
tion, half  question. 

"No,"  responded  Peg,  wearily,  sitting  down.  "I  waited 
'most  two  hours  for  the  lawyer,  an'  when  he  come,  I 
begged  harder'n  anything,  but  it  didn't  do  no  good.  He 
says  I  can't  see  my  man  for  a  long  time.  I  guess  they're 
tryin'  to  make  him  confess  he  killed  Maudlin." 

Jinnie's  hand  clutched  frantically  at  the  other's  arm. 
Both  women  had  forgotten  the  presence  of  the  blind  child. 

"He  wouldn't  do  that,"  cried  Jinnie,  panic-stricken. 
"A  man  can't  own  up  to  doing  a  thing  he  didn't  do." 

"Course  not,"  whispered  Bobbie,  in  an  awed  whisper, 
and  the  girl  sat  down,  drawing  him  to  her  lap.  She  could 
no  longer  guard  her  tongue  nor  hide  her  feelings.  She 
took  the  afternoon  paper  from  Mrs.  Grandoken's  hand. 

"Read  about  it  aloud,"  implored  the  woman. 

"It  says,"  began  Jinnie,  "Mr.  King's  dying." 

The  paper  fluttered  from  her  hand,  and  she  sat  like  a 
small  graven  image.  To  see  those  words  so  cruelly  set  in 
black  and  white,  staring  at  her  with  frightful  truth,  har- 
rowed the  very  soul  of  her.  A  sobbing  outburst  from 
Bobbie  mingled  with  the  soft  chug,  chug  of  the  engine 
outside  on  the  track.  Happy  Pete,  too,  felt  the  tragedy 
in  the  air.  He  wriggled  nearer  his  young  mistress  and 
rested  his  pointed  nose  on  one  of  her  knees,  while  his 
twinkling  yellow  eyes  demanded,  in  their  eloquent  way,  to 
know  the  cause  of  his  loved  ones'  sorrow. 

Peggy  broke  a  painful  pause. 

"Everybody  in  town  says  Lafe  done  it,"  she  groaned, 
"an'—  "  she  caught  her  breath.  "Oh,  God !  it  seems  I 
can't  stand  it  much  longer !" 


Jinnie  got  up,  putting  the  limp  boy  in  her  chair.  SKe 
was  making  a  masterful  effort  to  be  brave,  to  restrain  the 
rush  of  emotion  demanding  utterance.  Some  beating  thing 
in  her  side  ached  as  if  it  were  about  to  burst.  But  she 
stood  still  until  Peg  spoke  again. 

"It's  all  bad  business,  Jinnie!  an'  I  can't  see  no  help 
comin'  from  anywhere." 

If  Peg's  head  hadn't  fallen  suddenly  into  her  hands, 
perhaps  Jinnie  wouldn't  have  collapsed  just  then.  As  it 
was,  her  knees  gave  way,  and  she  fell  forward  beside  the 
cobbler's  wife.  Bobbie,  in  his  helpless  way,  knelt  too. 

Since  Lafe's  arrest  the  girl  had  not  prayed,  nor  could 
she  recall  the  promises  Lafe  had  taught  her  were  made  for 
the  troubled  in  spirit.  Could  she  now  say  anything  to 
make  Peg's  suffering  less,  even  if  she  did  not  believe  it  all 
herself?" 

"Peg,"  she  pleaded,  "don't  shiver  so !  ...  Hold  up 
your  head.  ...  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

Peggy  made  a  negative  gesture. 

"It  ain't  to  be  bore,  Jinnie,"  she  moaned  hoarsely. 

"Lafe  ain't  no  chance.     They'll  put  him  in  the  chair." 

Such  awful  words !  The  import  was  pressed  deeper  into 
two  young  hearts  by  Peg's  wild  weeping. 

Jinnie  staggered  to  her  feet.  Blind  Bobbie  broke  into 
a  prolonged  wail. 

"Lafe  ain't  never  done  nothin'  bad  in  all  his  life,"  went 
on  the  woman,  from  the  shelter  of  her  hands.  "He's  the 
best  man  in  the  world.  He's  worked  an'  worked  for  every- 
body, an'  most  times  never  got  no  pay.  An'  now " 

"Don't  say  it  again,  Peggy!"  Jinnie's  voice  rang  out. 
"Don't  think  such  things.  They  couldn't  put  Lafe  in  a 
wicked  death  chair — they  couldn't" 

Bobbie's  upraised  eyes  were  trying  to  pierce  througK 
their  veil  of  darkness  to  seek  the  speaker's  meaning. 


256  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"What  chair,  Jinnie?"  he  quivered.  "What  kind  of  a 
chair're  they  goin'  to  put  my  beautiful  Lafe  in?" 

Jinnie's  mind  went  back  to  the  teachings  of  the  cob- 
bler, and  the  slow,  sweet,  painful  smile  intermingled  with 
her  agony.  Again  and  again  the  memory  of  the  words, 
"He  hath  given  his  angels  charge  over  thee,"  swelled  her 
heart  to  the  breaking  point.  She  wanted  to  believe,  to  feel 
again  that  ecstatic  faith  which  had  suffused  her  as  Maud- 
lin Bates  pulled  her  curls  in  the  marsh,  when  she  had 
called  unto  the  Infinite  and  Theodore  had  answered. 

Peg  needed  Lafe's  angels  at  that  moment.  They  all 
needed  the  comfort  of  the  cobbler's  faith. 

"Peg,"  she  began,  "your  man'd  tell  you  something 
sweet  if  he  could  see  you  now." 

Peg  ceased  writhing,  but  didn't  lift  her  face.  Jinnie 
knew  she  was  listening,  and  continued: 

"Haven't  you  heard  him  many  a  time,  when  there 
wasn't  any  wood  in  the  house  or  any  bread  to  eat,  tell 
you  about — about " 

Down  dropped  the  woman's  hands,  and  she  lifted  a  woe- 
begone face  to  her  young  questioner. 

"Yes,  I've  heard  him,  Jinnie,"  she  quavered,  "but  I  ain't 
never  believed  it!" 

"But  you  can,  Peggy !  You  can,  sure !  Lots  of  times 
Lafe'd  say,  'Now,  Jinnie,  watch  God  and  me!'  And  I 
watched,  and  sure  right  on  the  minute  came  the  money." 
She  paused  a  moment,  ruminating.  "That  money  we  got 
the  day  he  went  away  came  because  he  prayed  for  it." 

The  girl  was  reverently  earnest. 

"Lafe's  got  a  chance,  all  right,"  she  pursued,  keeping 

Peg's  eye.  "More'n  a  chance,  if — if — if Oh,  Peggy, 

we've  got  to  pray !" 

"I  don't  know  how,"  said  Peg,  in  stifled  tones. 

Jinnie's  face  lighted  with  a  mental  argument  Lafe  had 


JINNIE  EXPLAINS   TO  BOBBIE      257. 

thrown  at  her  in  her  moments  of  distrust.  She  was  deep 
in  despondency,  but  something  had  to  be  done. 

"Peg,  you  don't  need  to  know  anything  about  it.  I 
didn't  when  I  came  here.  Lafe  says " 

"What'd  Lafe  say?"  cut  in  Peggy. 

"That  you  must  just  tell  God  about  it "  Jinnie 

lifted  a  white,  lovely  face.  "He's  everywhere — not  away 
off,"  she  proceeded.  "Talk  to  Him  just  like  you  would 
to  Lafe  or  me." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  sunk  lower  in  her  chair. 

"I  wisht  I'd  learnt  when  Lafe  was  here.  Now  I  dunno 
how." 

"But  will  you  try?"  Jinnie  pleaded  after  a  little. 

"You  know  'em  better'n  I  do,  Jinnie,"  Peg  muttered, 
dejectedly.  "You  ask  if  it'll  do  any  good." 

Jinnie  cleared  her  throat,  coughed,  and  murmured : 

"Close  your  eyes,  Bobbie." 

Bobbie  shut  his  lids  with  a  gulping  sob,  and  so  did  Peg. 

Then  Jinnie  began  in  a  low,  constrained  voice: 

"God  and  your  angels  hovering  about  Lafe,  please  send 
him  back  to  the  shop.  Get  him  out  of  jail,  and  don't  let 
anybody  hurt  him.  Amen." 

"Don't  let  any  chair  hurt  my  beautiful  cobbler,"  wailed 
Bobbie,  in  a  new  paroxysm  of  grief.  "Gimme  Lafe  an* 
my  stars." 

In  another  instant  Peggy  staggered  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  the  blind  boy  and  Jinnie  alone. 

As  the  door  closed,  Bobbie's  voice  rose  in  louder  ap- 
peal. Happy  Pete  touched  him  tenderly  with  a  cold,  wet 
nose,  crawling  into  his  arms  with  a  little  whine. 

Jinnie  looked  at  her  two  charges  hopelessly.  She  knew 
not  how  to  comfort  them,  nor  could  she  frame  words  that 
would  still  the  agony  of  the  child.  Yet  she  lifted  Bobbie 
and  Happy  Pete  and  sat  down  with  them  on  her  lap. 


258  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Don't  cry,  honey,"  she  stammered.  "There !  There ! 
Jinnie'll  rock  you." 

Her  face  was  ashen  with  anxiety,  and  perspiration  stood 
in  large  drops  upon  her  brow.  Mechanically  she  drew 
her  sleeve  across  her  face. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  be  awful  good,  Bobbie,"  she 
pleaded  presently.  "Lafe's  being  arrested  is  hard  on 
Peg — and  she's  sick." 

Bobbie  burst  in  on  her  words. 

"But  they'll  sit  my  cobbler  in  a  wicked  chair,  and  kill 
him,  Jinnie.  Peggy  said  they  would." 

"You  remember,  Bobbie,"  soothed  the  girl,  "what  Lafe 
said  about  God's  angels,  don't  you?" 

The  yellow  head  bent  forward  in  assent. 

"And  how  they're  stronger'n  a  whole  bunch  of  men?" 

"Yes,"  breathed  Bobbie;  "but  the  chair — the  men've 
got  that,  an'  mebbe  the  angels'll  be  busy  when  they're 
puttin'  the  cobbler  in  it." 

This  idea  make  him  shriek  out  louder  than  before: 
"They'll  kill  Lafe!  Oh,  Jinnie,  they  will!" 

"They  can't!"  denied  Jinnie,  rigidly.  "They  can't! 
Listen,  Bobbie." 

The  wan,  unsmiling  blind  face  brought  the  girl's  lips 
hard  upon  it. 

"I  want  to  know  all  about  the  death  chair,"  he  whim- 
pered stubbornly. 

"Bobbie,"  she  breathed,  "will  you  believe  me  if  I  tell 
you  about  it?" 

"Yes,"  promised  Bobbie,  snuggling  nearer. 

"Hang  on  to  Pete,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Jinnie. 

"I'm  hangin'  to  'im,"  sighed  Bobbie,  touching  Pete's 
shaggy  forelock.  "Tell  me  about  the  chair." 

Jinnie  was  searching  her  brain  for  an  argument  to  sat- 
isfy him.  She  wouldn't  have  lied  for  her  own  welfare — 


JINNIE  EXPLAINS  TO  BOBBIE      259 

but  for  Bobbie — she  could  feel  the  weak,  small  heart  pal- 
pitating against  her  arm. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  she  began  deliberately,  "Peg 
doesn't  know  everything  about  murders.  Why,  Bobbie, 
they  don't  do  anything  at  all  to  men  like  Lafe.  Why,  a 
cobbler,  dear,  a  cobbler  could  kill  everybody  in  the  whole 
world  if  he  liked." 

Bobbie's  breath  was  sent  out  in  one  long  exclamation  of 
wonder. 

"A  cobbler,"  went  on  Jinnie  impressively,  "could  steal 
loaves  of  bread  right  under  a  great  judge's  nose  and  he 
couldn't  do  anything  to  him." 

Jinnie  had  made  a  daring  speech,  such  a  splendid  one; 
she  wanted  to  believe  it  herself. 

"Tell  me  more,"  chirped  Bobbie.  "What  about  the 
death  chair,  Jinnie?" 

She  had  nursed  the  hope  that  the  boy  would  be  satisfied 
with  what  she  had  already  told  him,  but  she  proceeded  in 
triumphant  tones : 

"Oh,  you  mean  the  chair  Peg  was  speaking  about,  huh  ? 
Sure  I  know  all  about  that.  .  .  .  There  isn't  anything 
I  don't  know  about  it.  ...  I  know  more'n  all  the  judges 
and  preachers  put  together." 

A  small,  trustful  smile  appeared  at  the  corners  of  Bob- 
bie's mouth. 

"I  know  you  do,  Jinnie,"  he  agreed.     "Tell  it  to  me." 

Jinnie  pressed  her  lips  on  his  hair. 

"And  if  I  tell  you,  kiddie,  you'll  not  cry  any  more  or 
worry  Peggy?" 

"I'll  be  awful  good,  and  not  cry  once,"  promised  the 
boy,  settling  himself  expectantly. 

"Now,  then,  listen  hard!" 

Accordingly,  after  a  dramatic  pause,  to  give  stress  to 
her  next  statement,  she  continued: 


260  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"There  isn't  a  death  chair  in  the  whole  world  can  kill 
a  cobbler." 

Bobbie  braced  himself  against  her  and  sat  up.  His 
blind  eyes  were  roving  over  her  with  an  expression  of  dis- 
belief. Jinnie  knew  he  was  doubting  her  veracity,  so  she 
hurried  on. 

"Of  course  they  got  an  electric  chair  that'll  kill  other 
kinds  of  men,"  she  explained  volubly,  "but  if  you'll  be- 
lieve me,  Bobbie,  no  cobbler  could  ever  sit  in  it." 

Bobbie  dropped  back  again.  There  was  a  ring  of  truth 
in  Jinnie's  words,  and  he  began  to  believe  her. 

"And  another  thing,  Bobbie,  there's  something  in  the 
Bible  better'n  what  I've  told  you.  You  believe  the  Bible, 
don't  you?" 

"Lafe's  Bible?"  asked  Bobbie,  scarcely  audible. 

"Sure !    There  isn't  but  one." 

"Yes,  Jinnie,  I  believe  that,"  said  the  boy. 

"Well,"  and  Jinnie  glanced  up  at  the  ceiling,  "there's 
just  about  a  hundred  pages  in  that  book  tells  how  once 
some  men  tried  to  put  a  cobbler  in  one  of  those  chairs,  and 
the  lightning  jumped  out  and  set  'em  all  on  fire 

Bobbie  straightened  up  so  quickly  that  Happy  Pete  fell 
to  the  floor. 

"Yes,  yes,  Jinnie  dear,"  he  breathed.    "Go  on !" 

Jinnie  hesitated.    She  didn't  want  to  fabricate  further. 

"It's  just  so  awful  I  hate  to  tell  you,"  she  objected. 

"I'd  be  happier  if  you  would,"  whispered  Bobbie. 

"Then  I  will!     The  fire,  jumping  out,  didn't  hurt  the 
cobbler  one  wee  bit,  but  it  burned  the  wicked  men — 
Jinnie  paused,  gathered  a  deep  breath,  and  brought  to 
mind  Lafe's  droning  voice  when  he  had  used  the  same 
words,  "Burned  'em  root  and  branch,"  declared  she. 

Bobbie's  face  shone  with  happiness. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  begged. 


JINNIE  EXPLAINS  TO  BOBBIE      261 

"Isn't  it  enough?"  asked  Jinnie,  with  tender  chiding. 

"Aren't  there  nothin'  in  it  about  Lafe?" 

"Oh,  sure !"  Again  she  was  at  loss  for  ideas,  but  some- 
how words  of  their  own  volition  seemed  to  spring  from 
her  lips.  "Sure  there  is !  There's  another  hundred  pages 
in  that  blessed  book  that  says  good  men  like  Lafe  won't 
ever  go  into  one  of  those  chairs,  never,  never.  .  .  .  The 
Lord  God  Almighty  ordered  all  those  death  chairs  to  be 
chopped  up  for  kindling  wood,"  she  ended  triumphantly. 

"Shortwood?"  broke  out  Bobbie. 

Unheeding  the  interruption,  Jinnie  pursued:  "They 
just  left  a  chair  for  wicked  men,  that's  all." 

Bobbie  slipped  to  the  floor  and  raised  his  hands. 

"Jinnie,  pretty  Jinnie.  I'm  goin'  to  believe  every  word 
you've  said,  every  word,  and  my  stars're  all  shinin'  so 
bright  they're  just  like  them  in  the  sky." 

Jinnie  kissed  the  eager  little  face  and  left  the  child  sit- 
ting on  the  floor,  crooning  contentedly  to  Happy  Pete. 

"Lafe  told  me  once,"  Jinnie  whispered  to  herself  on  the 
way  to  the  kitchen,  "when  a  lie  does  a  lot  of  good,  it's 
better  than  the  truth  if  telling  facts  hurts  some  one." 

She  joined  Peggy,  sighing,  "I'm  an  awful  liar,  all  right, 
but  Bobbie's  happy." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

WHAT  THE  THUNDER  STORM  BROUGHT 

IN  the  past  few  weeks  Jinnie  Grandoken  had  been  driven 
blindly  into  unknown  places,  forced  to  face  conditions 
which  but  a  short  time  before  would  have  seemed  unbear- 
able. However,  there  was  much  with  which  Jinnie  could 
occupy  her  time.  Blind  Bobbie  was  not  well.  He  was 
mourning  for  the  cobbler  with  all  his  boyish  young  soul, 
and  every  day  Peggy  grew  more  taciturn  and  ill.  The 
funds  left  by  Theodore  were  nearly  gone,  and  Jinnie  had 
given  up  her  lessons.  She  was  using  the  remaining  money 
for  their  meagre  necessities. 

So  slowly  did  the  days  drag  by  that  the  girl  had  grown 
to  believe  that  the  authorities  would  never  bring  Lafe  to 
trial,  exonerate  him,  and  send  him  home.  Then,  too,  Theo- 
dore was  still  in  the  hospital,  and  she  thought  of  him  ever 
with  a  sense  of  terrific  loss.  But  the  daily  papers  brought 
her  news  of  him,  and  now  printed  that  his  splendid  consti- 
tution might  pull  him  through.  It  never  occurred  to  her 
that  her  loved  one  would  believe  Lafe  had  shot  him  and 
Maudlin  Bates.  Theodore  was  too  wise,  too  kindly,  for 
such  suspicions. 

For  a  while  after  receiving  permission  from  the  county 
attorney,  she  visited  Lafe  every  day.  Peggy  had  seen 
him  only  once,  being  too  miserable  to  stand  the  strain  of 
going  to  the  jail.  But  Mrs.  Grandoken  never  neglected 
sending  by  the  girl  some  little  remembrance  to  her  hus- 

262 


WHAT  THE  STORM  BROUGHT      263 

band.  Perhaps  it  was  only  a  written  message,  but  mostly 
a  favorite  dish  of  food  or  an  article  of  his  wearing  apparel. 

One  afternoon  Bobbie  sat  by  the  window  with  his  small, 
pale  face  pressed  close  to  the  pane.  Outside  a  great 
storm  was  raging,  and  from  one  end  of  Paradise  Road  to 
the  other,  rivulets  of  water  rushed  down  to  the  lake.  Sev- 
eral times  that  day,  when  the  boy  had  addressed  Mrs. 
Grandoken,  she  had  answered  him  even  more  gruffly  than 
of  yore.  He  knew  by  her  voice  she  was  ill,  and  his  palpi- 
tating heart  was  wrung  so  agonizingly  that  he  was  con- 
stantly in  tears.  Now  he  was  waiting  for  Jinnie,  and  the 
sound  of  the  buffeting  rain  and  the  booming  roar  of  heavy 
thunder  thrilled  him  dismally.  To  hear  Jinnie's  footsteps 
at  that  moment  would  be  the  panacea  for  all  his  grief. 

Peg  came  into  the  shop,  and  Bobbie  turned  slightly. 

"Jinnie's  stay  in'  awful  long  at  the  jail  to-day,"  said 
the  woman  fretfully.  "Do  you  hear  her  comin',  Bobbie  ?" 

"No,"  said  Bobbie,  "I've  been  stretchin'  my  ears  almost 
to  the  hill  to  hear  her.  If  she  doesn't  come  soon,  I'll  die 
— my  stars've  been  gone  a  long  time." 

"I  wish  she'd  come,"  sighed  Mrs.  Grandoken. 

"Bend  over  here,  Peg,"  entreated  Bobbie,  "I  want  to 
touch  your  eyes!" 

Without  comment  the  woman  leaned  over,  and  the  boy's 
fingers  wavered  over  her  wrinkled  countenance. 

"You're  awful  sick,  dearie,"  he  grieved,  pressing  against 
her.  "Can  Blind  Bobbie  do  anything?" 

Peg  dropped  her  arm  around  him. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  whispered.  "I  wish  Lafe  and  Jinnie 
was  here." 

One  long  shiver  shook  Bobbie's  slender  body.  That  Peg 
could  ever  be  afraid  was  a  new  idea  to  him.  It  terrified 
him  even  to  contemplate  it.  He  began  to  sob  wistfully, 
but  in  another  instant  raised  his  head. 


264  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"She's  comin',"  he  cried  sharply.  "I  hear  'er.  I  got 
two  stars,  mebbe  three." 

When  Jinnie  opened  the  door,  the  water  was  dripping 
from  her  clothes,  and  her  hair  hung  in  long,  wet  curls  to 
her  waist.  One  look  into  Peg's  twisted,  pain-ridden  face, 
and  she  understood. 

"I'm  glad  you're  here,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  gesture 
of  helplessness.  And  Bobbie  echoed,  with  fluttering  hands, 
""I'm  glad,  too,  Jinnie.  Me  and  Peg  was  so  'fraid." 

The  girl  spoke  softly  to  Bobbie,  and  drew  Peggy  into 
the  bedroom.  There,  with  her  arm  thrown  across  Mrs. 
Grandoken's  shoulder,  she  gave  all  the  assurance  and  com- 
fort of  which  she  was  capable. 

Long  after  midnight,  the  rain  still  came  down  in  thrash- 
ing torrents,  and  through  the  pieces  of  broken  tin  on  the 
roof  the  wind  shrilled  dismally. 

There  was  a  solemn  hush  in  the  back  bedroom  where 
Peggy  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling.  In  front  of  the  shadowy 
lamp  was  a  bit  of  cardboard  to  protect  the  sick  woman's 
eyes  from  the  light.  At  Peggy's  side  sat  Jinnie,  and  in 
her  arms  lay  a  small  bundle.  Jinnie  had  gained  much 
knowledge  in  the  last  few  hours.  She  had  discovered  the 
mystery  of  all  existence.  She  had  seen  Peg  go  down  into 
that  wonderful  valley  of  life  and  bring  back  Lafe's  little 
boy  baby,  and  the  girl's  eyes  held  an  expression  of  im- 
penetrable things.  She  moved  her  position  slightly  so  as 
to  study  Mrs.  Grandoken's  face. 

Suddenly  Peg's  eyes  lowered. 

"Jinnie,  gimme  a  drink,  will  you  ?" 

Placing  the  child  on  the  bed,  the  girl  got  up  instantly. 
She  went  to  the  kitchen  and  returned  with  a  glass  of  milk. 
It  had  scarcely  touched  the  woman's  lips  before  she  raised 
her  hand  and  pushed  it  away. 

"I  mustn't  drink  that,"  she  whispered  feebly. 


WHAT  THE  STORM  BROUGHT      265 

"I  got  it  specially  for  you,  Peggy  dear,"  insisted  Jinnie. 
.  .  .  "Drink  it,"  she  wheedled,  "please." 

Then  Jinnie  sat  down  again,  listening  as  the  elements 
kept  up  their  continuous  rioting,  and  after  a  while  they 
lulled  her  to  rest.  Suddenly  her  head  dropped  softly  on 
the  bundle  in  her  arms,  and  the  three — Peggy,  Jinnie  and 
the  tiny  Jewish  baby — slept. 

Jinnie's  name,  spoken  in  low  tones,  roused  her  quickly. 
She  raised  her  head,  a  sharp  pain  twisting  her  neck. 
Peggy  was  looking  at  her,  with  misery  in  her  face. 

"I  feel  awful  sick,  Jinnie,"  she  moaned.  "Can't  you  say 
somethin'  t'me,  somethin'  to  make  me  feel  better?" 

Something  to  make  her  feel  better !  The  words  touched 
the  listener  deeply.  Oh,  how  she  wanted  to  help !  To  al- 
leviate Peg's  suffering  was  her  one  desire.  If  it  had  been 
Bobbie,  or  even  Lafe,  Jinnie  would  have  known  exactly 
what  to  say ;  but  Peggy,  proud,  stoical  Peggy ! 

"Let  me  put  the  baby  with  you  where  it's  warm,  Peg," 
she  said,  gently.  "I'm  going  to  talk  to  you  a  minute.  .  .  . 
There,  now,  you're  all  safe,  little  mister,  near  your  mam- 
my's heart." 

Then  she  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  took  the  woman's 
hot  fingers  in  hers. 

"Peggy,"  she  began  softly,  "things  look  awful  bad  just 
now,  but  Lafe  told  me  once,  when  they  looked  that  way,  it 
was  time  for  some  one  to  come  along  and  help.  I'll  tell 
you  about  it,  Peg !  Eh  ?" 

"Who  c'n  come?"  demanded  Mrs.  Grandoken,  irritably. 
"Mr.  King  can't,  an'  we  hain't  no  other  friends  who'll 
come  to  a  cobbler's  shop." 

The  question  in  her  voice  gave  Jinnie  the  chance  she 
was  looking  for. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  she  insisted.  "Now  listen,  while  I  say 
something ;  will  you  ?" 


266  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Sure,"  said  Peg,  squeezing  Jinnie's  fingers. 

Then  Jinnie  started  to  repeat  a  few  verses  Lafe  had 
taught  her.  She  couldn't  tell  exactly  where  they  were  in 
the  Bible,  but  the  promise  in  them  had  always  made  her 
own  burdens  lighter,  and  since  seeing  Lafe  daily,  she  had 
partially  come  back  to  her  former  trust. 

"  'The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,' "  she  droned  sleepily. 
Then  on  and  on  until  she  came  to,  "  'Yea,  though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,'  "  and  Peg 
broke  into  a  sob. 

"  'I  will  fear  no  evil,' "  soothed  Jinnie,  amid  the  roar- 
ing of  the  wind  and  the  crackling  of  the  thunder  over  the 
hill. 

"  'For  thou  art  with  me,'  "  she  finished  brokenly.  "He's 
the  one  I  was  talking  about,  Peggy.  He'll  help  us  all  if 
we  can  believe  and  be " 

Then  she  quickly  ended,  "Happy  in  Spite." 

Peg  continued  to  sob.  One  arm  was  across  her  baby 
boy  protectingly,  and  the  other  hand  Jinnie  held  in  hers. 

"Somehow  things  seem  easier,  Peggy,  when  you  hold 
your  head  up  high,  and  believe  everything'll  come  all  right. 
.  .  .  Lafe  said  so ;  that's  why  he  started  the  club." 

"I  wisht  I  could  think  that  way.  I'm  near  dead," 
groaned  the  woman. 

Jinnie  smoothed  the  soft,  grey-streaked  hair. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  into  the  club,  dear?"  she 
faltered,  scarcely  daring  to  put  the  question.  "Then 
you'll  be  happy  with  us  all — with  Lafe  and  Bobbie  and 
—and " 

Jinnie  wanted  to  say  another  name,  but  doubted  its 
wisdom — and  then  abruptly  it  came;  "and  Jinnie,"  she 
finished. 

I*cggy  almost  sat  up  in  bed. 

"Darlin',"  she  quivered.    "Darlin*  girl,  I've  been  cussed 


WHAT  THE  STORM  BROUGHT      267 

mean  to  Lafe  an'  you.  I've  told  you  many  a  time  with 
my  own  mouth  I  hated  you,  but  God  knows,  an'  Lafe 
knows,  I  loved  you  the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  you."  She 
dropped  back  on  the  pillow  and  continued,  "If  you'll  take 
me  in  your  club,  an'  learn  me  how  to  believe,  I'll  try;  I 
swear  I  will." 

For  a  long  time  Jinnie  sat  crooning  over  and  over  the 
verses  she'd  learned  from  Lafe,  and  bye-and-bye  she  heard 
Peg  breathing  regularly  and  knew  she  slept.  Then  she 
settled  herself  in  the  chair,  and  sweet,  mysterious  dreams 
came  to  her  through  the  storm. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE  STOEY  OF  A  BIRD 

LAFE  Grandoken,  in  his  wheel  chair,  sat  under  the  barred 
prison  window,  an  open  Bible  on  his  knees.  Slowly  the 
shadows  were  falling  about  him,  and  to  the  man  every 
shade  had  an  entity  of  its  own.  First  there  trooped  before 
him  all  the  old  memories  of  the  many  yesterdays— of  Peg 
— his  little  dead  lad — and  Jinnie.  And  lastly,  ghostlike, 
came  the  shattered  hopes  of  to-morrow,  and  with  these  he 
groaned  and  shivered. 

Jinnie  stole  in  and  looked  long  upon  her  friend  through 
the  iron-latticed  door.  The  smile  that  played  with  the 
dimples  in  her  cheeks  and  the  dancing  shadows  in  the  violet 
eyes  indicated  her  happiness.  Lafe  looked  older  and  thin- 
ner than  ever  before,  and  her  heart  sang  when  she  thought 
of  the  news  she  had  to  tell  him.  She  longed  to  pronounce 
his  name,  to  take  away  the  far-away  expression  that 
seemed  to  hold  him  in  deep  meditation.  During  her  tramp 
to  the  jail  she'd  concocted  a  fairy  story  to  bring  a  smile 
to  the  cobbler's  lips.  So  at  length : 

"Lafe,"  she  whispered. 

Mr.  Grandoken's  head  came  up  quickly,  and  he  turned 
the  chair  and  wheeled  toward  her.  There  was  the  same 
question  in  his  eyes  that  had  been  there  for  so  many  days, 
and  Jinnie  smiled  broadly. 

"Lafe,"  she  began  mysteriously,  "a  great  big  bird  flew 
right  into  the  house  last  night.  He  flopped  in  to  get  out 
of  the  storm !" 

268 


THE   STORY  OF  A  BIRD  269 

"A  bird?"  repeated  Lafe,  startled. 

"Yes,  and  everybody  says  it's  awful  good  luck." 

Lafe's  expression  grew  tragic,  and  Jinnie  hurried  on 
with  her  tale. 

"I'll  bet  you  can't  guess  what  kind  of  a  bird  'twas, 
Lafe." 

Lafe  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  lessen  'twas  a  robin," 
said  he. 

Jinnie  giggled. 

"My,  no !  He  was  a  heap  bigger'n  a  robin.  Guess 
again !" 

Such  chatter  from  Jinnie  was  unusual,  especially  of 
late,  but  Lafe  bore  it  patiently. 

"I  can't,"  he  sighed,  shaking  his  head. 

Jinnie  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  knew  you  couldn't !    Well,  Lafe,  it  was  a — a " 

"Yes?"  queried  Lafe  wearily,  during  her  hesitation. 
"Well,  Jinnie?" 

"It  was  a  great,  big,  beautiful  white  stork,  Lafe,  and 
he  brought  you  a  new  Jew  baby.  What'd  you  think  of 
that?" 

"Jinnie,  girl,  lass,  you  ain't  tellin'  me " 

"Yes,  dear,  he's  there,  as  big  as  life  and  twice  as  nat- 
ural, Peg  says.  ...  Of  course,"  she  rambled  on,  "the 
stork  went  away,  but  the  Jew  baby — to  make  a  long  story 
short,  he's  with " 

"His  ma,  eh,  dear?"  interjected  Lafe.  "How's  Peg, 
honey  ?" 

"Oh,  she's  fine,"  replied  Jinnie,  "and  I've  a  lot  to  tell 
you,  dearest." 

"Begin,"  commanded  Lafe,  with  wide,  bright  eyes. 

Jinnie  commenced  by  telling  how  lovely  the  baby  was. 
Of  course  she  didn't  rehearse  Peg's  suffering.  It  wouldn't 
do  any  good. 


270  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"And  the  baby  looks  like  you,  Lafe,"  she  observed. 

"Does  he  really?"  gasped  Lafe,  trying  to  smile. 

"He's  got  your  Jew  look  'round  his  nose,"  added  Jinnie 
gravely.  "You  wanted  him  to  look  like  you,  didn't  you, 
Lafe?" 

"Sure,  Jinnie.    And  now  about  Peggy?    Tell  me  about 

Peggy." 

"Peggy's  with  us,  Lafe "  Jinnie  stopped  and  drew 

a  long  breath.  "What'd  you  think?  Oh— guess !" 

"I  couldn't!  Tell  me,  Jinnie!  Don't  keep  me  waitin' 
for  good  things." 

"Peggy's  in  the  'Happy  in  Spite',  and  I'm  learning  her 
all  the  verses  you  taught  me." 

Then  Lafe's  head  dropped  on  his  hands  and  tears  trick- 
led through  his  fingers. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  her,"  he  groaned  deeply. 

"When  she  gets  well,  you  can,"  promised  Jinnie,  "and 
mebbe  the  baby." 

Lafe's  head  was  raised  quickly  and  his  eyes  sparkled. 

"I'd  love  to  see  'em  both,"  was  all  he  could  stammer. 

The  girl  thrust  her  fingers  through  the  bars  to  him,  and 
they  stood  thus,  regarding  each  other  in  all  confidence  and 
faith,  until  Jinnie  dropped  his  hand. 

"Mr.  King's  getting  well,"  she  said  softly. 

"I'm  glad,  very  glad.  He  don't  think  I  done  it,  does 
he,  Jinnie?" 

"No,  and  when  I  sec  him  I'll  tell  him  you  didn't." 

And  as  if  that  settled  it,  she  turned  to  go;  then  hesi- 
tating, she  smiled  upon  him. 

"Give  me  four  nice  kisses,  Lafe.  I'll  take  one  to  Peg, 
Bobbie,  and  the  baby,  and  keep  one  for  myself."  Then 
after  their  lips  had  met  through  the  bars  in  resounding 
smacks,  Jinnie  gasped,  "We  can't  forget  Milly  Ann  and 
Happy  Pete.  Two  more,  honey !" 


THE   STORY  OF  A  BIRD  271 

"God  bless  you,  Jinnie  lass,"  murmured  Lafe,  trying  to 
hide  his  emotion,  and  then  he  wheeled  quickly  back  into 
the  falling  afternoon  light  under  the  window. 

Jinnie's  energetic  mind  was  busy  with  a  scheme.  She 
wasn't  sure  it  would  meet  with  Peg's  approval,  but  when 
she  arrived  home,  she  sat  down  beside  Mrs.  Grandoken. 

"Now,  Peggy,"  she  began  emphatically,  "I  want  you  to 
pay  attention  to  what  I'm  saying  to  you." 

"I  will,"  said  Peggy. 

"Lafe  wants  to  see  the  baby !" 

"Now?"  asked  Mrs.  Grandoken,  surprised. 

"Well,  he  didn't  say  just  now,  but  his  eyes  asked  it, 
and,  Peg,  I  was  wondering  if  I  couldn't  take  the  little 
kid  up  to  the  jail." 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"They  wouldn't  let  you  in  with  'im,"  she  objected. 

Jinnie  thought  a  long  time.  Presently  she  laughed  a 
little,  chuckling  laugh. 

"I  know  how  to  get  him  in  there !" 

"How?"  asked  Peggy,  incredulously. 

"Why,  everybody  knows  I've  been  a  shortwood  girl. 
I'll  roll  him  up  in  a  bundle " 

Peg's  hand  sought  the  little  body  under  the  covers  pro- 
tectingly. 

"Oh,  I  won't  hurt  him,  Peg,"  assured  Jinnie.  "We'll 
wrap  him  up  the  first  fine  day !  You  can  do  it  yourself, 
dear." 

One  week  later  Jinnie  went  slowly  up  the  incline  that 
led  to  the  prison.  On  her  back  was  a  shortwood  strap 
filled  with  brush  and  small  twigs. 

"I  want  to  see  Lafe  Grandoken,"  she  said. 

To  surprise  Lafe  she  crept  softly  along  the  corridor 
until  she  halted  at  his  cell  door.  She  could  see  him  plainly, 
and  the  troubled  lines  were  almost  erased  from  between  his 


272  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

brows.  She  was  glad  of  that,  for  she  wanted  him  to  smile, 
to  be  "Happy  in  Spite." 

She  called  his  name  and  he  turned,  wheeling  toward  her. 

"I  hoped  you'd  be  comin',"  he  said,  smiling  gravely. 
Then  noting  the  shortwood,  he  exclaimed,  "Have  you  had 
to  go  to  work  again,  lass  ?" 

"Just  for  to-day,"  and  Jinnie  displayed  her  white  teeth 
in  a  broad  smile.  "I've  brought  you  something,  Lafe,  and 
I  wrapped  it  up  in  shortwood." 

The  girl  carefully  slipped  the  strap  from  her  shoul- 
ders and  sat  down  beside  it  on  the  floor.  Watching 
eagerly,  Lafe  peered  between  the  bars,  for  surely  his 
Peggy  had  sent  him  some  token  of  her  love.  The  girl 
paused  and  looked  up. 

"Shut  your  eyes  tight,  Lafe,"  she  commanded  playfully. 

Lafe  closed  his  eyes,  wrinkling  down  his  lids.  Then 
Jinnie  lifted  the  baby  and  uncovered  the  small  face.  The 
little  chap  opened  his  eyes  and  yawned  as  the  girl  held 
him  close  to  the  bars. 

"Now,  Lafe,  quick!    Look!    Ha!    It's  a  Jew!" 

The  cobbler's  eyes  flew  open,  and  he  was  staring  squarely 
into  a  small,  rosy,  open-eyed  baby  face.  For  a  moment 
he  thought  he  was  dreaming — dreaming  a  dream  he  had 
dreamed  every  night  since  the  thunder  storm.  He  caught 
at  his  chin  to  stay  the  chattering  of  his  teeth. 

"It  ain't  him,  Jinnie,  my  Jew  baby?"  he  murmured 
brokenly. 

"Yes,  'tis,"  and  she  laughed.  "It's  your  own  little  fel- 
ler. I  brought  him  to  get  a  kiss  from  his  daddy.  Kiss 
him !  Kiss  him  smack  on  the  mouth,  Lafe." 

And  Lafe  kissed  his  baby — kissed  him  once,  twice,  and 
three  times,  gulping  hard  after  each  caress.  He  would 
never  have  enough  of  those  sweet  kisses,  never,  never !  And 
as  his  lips  descended  reverently  upon  the  smooth,  rose-col- 


THE   STORY  OF  A  BIRD  273 

ored  skin,  Mr.  Grandoken  laughed,  and  Jinnie  laughed, 
and  the  baby,  too,  wrinkled  up  his  nose. 

"Lafe,"  Jinnie  said  tenderly,  drawing  the  baby  away, 
"I  knew  you  wanted  to  see  him;  didn't  you?" 

Lafe  nodded.  "An'  I'll  never  be  able  to  thank  you  for 
this,  Jinnie.  .  .  .  Let  me  kiss  him  once  more.  .  .  .  Oh, 
ain't  he  beautiful  ?" 

Just  before  the  girl  wrapped  the  boy  again  in  the  short- 
wood,  she  suggested, 

"Lafe,  what's  against  taking  him  into  the  'Happy  in 
Spite'?  He's  happier'n  any  kid  in  the  whole  world,  having 
you  for  a  daddy  and  Peg  for  his  mother." 

Jinnie  thrust  the  baby's  plump  hand  through  the  bars, 
and  Lafe,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  shook  it  tenderly,  then 
kissed  it. 

"Lafe  Grandoken,  Jr,"  he  whispered,  "you're  now  a 
member  of  the  'Happy  in  Spite'  Club." 

And  then  Jinnie  took  the  baby  back  to  Peggy. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

JINNIE'S  VISIT  TO  THEODORE 

So  suddenly  had  the  two  strong,  friendly  forces  been 
swept  from  Jinnie's  daily  life  that  as  yet  she  had  not  the 
power  to  think  with  precision.  Lafe  she  had  had  every 
day  for  almost  three  years,  and  Theodore  King — oh,  how 
she  loved  him!  Rumors  were  afloat  that  no  power  could 
save  Lafe — her  dear,  brave  cobbler. 

Day  by  day  the  girl's  faith  increased,  and  of  late  she 
had  uttered  silent  prayers  that  she  might  be  allowed  to 
see  Theodore. 

One  morning  she  was  in  the  kitchen  rocking  little  Lafe 
when  Peggy  called  her. 

"There's  some  one  to  see  you,"  said  she. 

Jinnie  gave  the  mother  her  baby  and  went  to  the  shop 
door.  A  man  in  a  white  suit  smiled  down  upon  her. 

"I'm  from  the  hospital,"  said  he.  "Mr.  King  would 
like  to  see  you  this  morning." 

Jinnie's  heart  seemed  to  climb  into  her  throat. 

"Mr.  Theodore  King?"  she  murmured. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man.  "I've  got  a  car  here.  Will 
you  come?" 

"Of  course !    Wait  till  I  get  my  hat." 

Once  at  their  destination,  they  tiptoed  into  Theodore's 
room  noiselessly,  and  as  Jinnie  stood  over  the  bed,  looking 
(down  upon  him,  she  suffered  keenly,  he  looked  so  deathlike ; 
but  she  resolutely  controlled  her  feelings.  When  Theo- 

274 


clore  glanced  at  her,  she  forced  herself  to  smile,  and  the 
sight  of  the  lovely  girl  refreshed  the  sick  man,  giving  him 
a  new  impetus  to  recover. 

He  smiled  back,  endeavoring  not  to  show  his  weakness. 

"You  see  I'm  getting  well,"  he  whispered. 

Jinnie  nodded.  She  wasn't  sure  whether  he  was  or  not. 
How  her  heart  ached  to  do  something  for  him ! 

One  of  his  long,  thin  hands  lay  over  the  coverlet,  and 
Jinnie  wanted  to  kiss  it.  Tears  were  standing  thick  on 
her  lashes. 

The  doctor  stood  beside  her,  consulting  his  watch. 

"If  you  wish  to  speak,  Mr.  King,"  he  said  kindly,  "you 
must  do  so  quickly,  for  the  young  lady  can  stay  but  two 
minutes  more.  That's  all !" 

The  doctor  turned  his  back  upon  them,  watch  in  hand. 

"Kiss  me,  dear!"  murmured  Theodore. 

Oblivious  of  the  doctor's  presence,  Jinnie  stooped  and 
kissed  him  twice,  taking  the  thin  hand  he  extended. 

"I  sent  for  you  because  I  feared  you'd  go  to  work  at 
the  wood  again." 

Jinnie  would  reassure  him  on  this  point  even  by  an  un- 
truth, for  she  might  be  driven,  for  the  sake  of  Peggy  and . 
the  children,  to  go  back  into  that  hated  occupation. 

"I  promise  I  won't,"  she  said. 

"Are  you  still  taking  lessons  ?" 

Jinnie  shook  her  head. 

"I  couldn't  when  you  were  sick.    I  just  couldn't." 

"But  you  must ;  you  must  go  to-morrow.  I  have  some- 
thing here  for  you,"  he  said,  reaching  under  the  pillow 
with  his  free  hand. 

Jinnie  drew  back  abashed. 

"You're  too  sick  to  think  of  us,"  she  murmured. 

Theodore  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"No!    No,  darling,  I  think  of  you  always — every  clay 


276  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

— and  shall  even  when  I'm  dead.  You  must  take  this 
money.  Do  you  love  me,  dearest,  very  much?" 

He  smiled  again  as  she  stooped  impetuously  to  kiss  him, 
and  with  her  face  very  close  to  his,  she  whispered, 

"Lafe  didn't  do  it,  darling!" 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Theodore,  closing  his  eyes. 

Then  the  doctor  turned  and  sent  her  away. 

When  she  sank  back  in  the  automobile,  Jinnie  opened 
her  hand  with  the  roll  of  bills  in  it,  and  all  the  way  home, 
she  repeated,  "He  has  given  His  angels  charge  over  thee." 
She  was  hoping  and  praying  for  Theodore  King. 

Two  days  later,  coming  down  the  hill,  she  met  Miss 
Merriweather  on  horseback.  The  young  woman  stopped 
her  and  asked  her  to  accompany  her  home.  Jennie  hesi- 
tated. She  still  had  memories  of  the  cat  sent  to  its  death 
in  Molly's  fit  of  anger  and  the  woman's  chilling  reception 
of  her  at  the  King  dinner.  Nevertheless  she  turned  and 
walked  slowly  beside  the  horse.  When  they  reached  the 
porch  of  Mr.  King's  home,  a  groom  came  and  led  the  ani- 
mal away.  Jinnie  laid  down  her  fiddle,  taking  the  chair 
indicated  by  Molly.  It  had  been  Jordan  Morse's  idea 
that  she  should  endeavor  to  again  talk  with  the  girl,  but 
the  woman  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin.  Jinnie  looked  so 
very  lovely,  so  confiding,  so  infinitely  sweet.  Molly  leaned 
over  and  said: 

"Wasn't  it  queer  how  suddenly  I  remembered  who  you 
were?  That  night  at  the  party  your  name  refused  to 
come  to  my  mind.  I've  wanted  to  tell  you  several  times 
how  sorry  I  was  about  your  accident !" 

"I  recognized  you  the  minute  I  saw  you,"  said  Jinnie, 
smiling,  relieved  a  little  by  Molly's  apology. 

"You've  a  good  memory,"  answered  Molly.  "Now  I 
want  to  tell  you  something,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  guided 
by  my  judgment." 


JINNIE'S  VISIT  TO  THEODORE      277 

Jinnie  looked  straight  at  her  without  a  sign  of  acquies- 
cence. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked  presently. 

"You  must  leave  Grandoken's !" 

Jinnie  started  to  speak,  but  Molly's  next  words  closed 
her  lips. 

"Please  don't  get  nervous!  Listen  to  me!  You're  a 
very  young  and  very  pretty  girl  and  there — there  is  some 
one  interested  in  you." 

Jinnie  pricked  up  her  ears.  Some  one  interested  in  her ! 
Of  course  she  knew  who  it  was.  Theodore !  But  she 
wouldn't  leave  Peggy  even  for  him,  and  the  thought  that  he 
would  not  ask  this  of  her  brought  her  exquisite  joy. 

"Is  it  Mr.  King  who's  interested  in  me?"  she  asked, 
timidly. 

Molly's  eyes  narrowed  into  small  slits. 

"No,  it  isn't  Mr.  King  who's  interested  in  you !"  she  re- 
plied a  trifle  mockingly.  "Mr.  King's  too  sick  to  be  in- 
terested in  anybody." 

Jinnie  couldn't  refrain  from  saying,  "He  looked  awful 
ill  when  I  saw  him  at  the  hospital." 

Molly  stared  at  her  blankly.  She  grew  dizzy  and  very 
angry.  This  girl  always  made  her  rage  within  herself. 

"You've  seen  him  since — since " 

A  maddened  expression  leapt  into  Molly's  eyes. 

"I  drive  there  every  day,  but  they  won't  let  me  see 
him,"  she  said,  reddening. 

"Mr.  King  sent  for  me,"  Jinnie  replied,  resolutely. 

And  as  the  girl  admitted  this,  with  deepening  flushes, 
Molly  looked  away.  When  she  had  first  spoken  of  Jinnie's 
future  to  Jordan  Morse,  she  had  pleaded  with  him  to 
be  kind  to  her,  but  now  she  could  surround  that  white 
throat  and  strangle  the  breath  from  it  without  com- 
punction. 


278  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  he  said  to  you?"  she  queried, 
trying  to  hide  her  anger. 

Jinnie  looked  down,  and  locked  her  fingers  together. 

"I  can't  tell,"  she  said  at  length,  moving  in  discomfort. 

She  wanted  to  go — to  get  away  from  the  woman  who 
looked  at  her  so  analytically,  so  resentfully.  She  got  up 
nervously  and  picked  up  her  fiddle. 

"Don't  go,"  urged  Molly,  starting  forward. 

Then  she  laughed  a  little  and  went  on,  "I  suppose  I  did 
feel  a  bit  jealous  at  first  because  we — Mr.  King  and  I — 
have  been  friends  so  many  years.  But  now  we  won't  think 
any  more  about  it.  I  do  want  you  to  go  from  that  terri- 
ble Paradise  Road.  It's  no  place  for  a  girl  in  your  po- 
sition." 

"You've  told  me  that  before,"  retorted  Jinnie,  with 
clouded  eyes.  "My  position  isn't  anything.  I  haven't 
any  other  home,  and  I'm  a  sort  of  a  helper  to  Peggy." 

A  helper  to  Peggy !  Doubtless  if  Lafe  had  heard  that 
he  would  have  smiled.  Truly  she  was  a  wonderful  little 
helper,  but  she  was  more  than  that,  much  more — helper, 
friend,  and  protector  all  in  one. 

"Another  thing,"  added  Jinnie  quickly,  "I  love  'em  all." 

"You've  your  own  home  in  Mottville,"  the  woman  sug- 
gested. "You  ought  to  be  there." 

Jinnie  sank  back  into  the  chair. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  ever  go  there !"  she  cut  in  swiftly.  "But 
I  can't  tell  you  why." 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  help  you?" 

Jinnie  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"It  wouldn't  help  any,  taking  me  away  from  Peggy. 
I'd  rather  you'd  do  something  for  Lafe.  Help  him  get 
out  of  prison.  Will  you?" 

"I'm  not  interested  in  him,"  said  Molly.  "But  I  am  in 
you " 


JINNIE'S  VISIT  TO  THEODORE      279 

"Why?"  blurted  Jinnie. 

Molly  colored. 

"One  can't  explain  an  interest  like  mine.  But  I'd  go 
back  to  Mottville  with  you,  and  help  you  with  your " 

Jinnie  shook  her  head  violently. 

"I  wouldn't  go  there  for  anything  in  the  world,"  she 
interjected. 

"I  can't  understand  why  not !" 

"Well,  first  I  couldn't,  and  I  won't.  .  .  .  Then  Peggy 
needs  me  in  Paradise  Road,  and  there's  the  baby  and  Bob- 
bie." 

"Who's  Bobbie?" 

"Our  little  kid,"  replied  Jinnie,  smiling  sweetly. 

She  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  explain  that  she  had 
found  Bobbie  in  the  woods.  He  was  as  much  one  of  them 
as  Lafe's  baby  or  herself.  Neither  did  she  speak  of  the 
boy's  pitiful  condition. 

In  spite  of  Jinnie's  absolute  refusal,  Molly  went  on : 

"But  you  don't  understand.  You've  got  your  own  life 
to  think  of!" 

Jinnie  burst  in  with  what  she  thought  was  a  clinching 
triumph. 

"I  take  lessons  on  my  fiddle  every  day.  Some  time  I 
hope " 

Molly's  eyes  gleamed  again. 

"How  can  you  afford  to  take  lessons  ?" 

The  questioner  read  the  truth  in  the  burning  blush  that 
swept  the  girl's  dark  hair  line,  and  her  little  white  teeth 
came  together. 

"Mr.  Grandoken  is  not  your  uncle,"  she  snapped. 

"He's  more'n  my  uncle ;  he's  a  father  to  me,  and  when 
he  comes  home " 

"He's  not  coming  home.  Murderers  don't  get  off  so 
easily." 


280  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Jinnie  got  up  and  again  picked  her  fiddle  from  the  floor. 

"He  isn't  a  murderer !"  she  stammered,  with  filling  eyes. 
"Lafe  wouldn't  kill  anything.  .  .  .  I've  been  with  him 
almost  three  years  and  I  know.  Why,  he  wouldn't  let  Peg 
or  me  swat  flies." 

Miss  Merriweather  saw  her  mistake.  She  realized  then 
as  never  before  that  nothing  could  take  from  the  girl  her 
belief  in  the  cobbler. 

"Sit  down,"  she  urged.    "Don't  go  yet." 

"I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  said  Jinnie,  very  much  of- 
fended. "I'm  going!  I'm  sorry  you  think  Lafe " 

Molly  rose  too.    Impetuously  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  really  shouldn't  have  spoken  that  way,  because  I 
clon't  know  a  thing  about  it." 

Jinnie  relented  a  little,  but  not  enough  to  sit  down.  She 
was  too  deeply  hurt  to  accept  Molly's  hospitality  further. 

"And  we  musn't  quarrel,  child,"  decided  the  woman. 
"Now  won't  you  reconsider  my  proposition?  I  should  love 
to  do  something  for  you." 

Resolutely  the  dark  curls  shook  in  refusal. 

"I'm  going  to  stay  with  Peggy  till  Lafe  gets  out,  and 
then  when  I'm  eighteen  I'm  going  to  school.  I've  been 
studying  a  lot  since  I  left  Mottville.  .  .  .  Why  some- 
times—  '*  she  resumed  eagerly,  "when  we  haven't  had 
enough  to  eat,  Lafe's  made  me  buy  a  book  to  study  out  of, 
and  I  promised  him  I'd  stay  with  his  family  till  he  came 

back.  And "  she  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  porch, 

turning  suddenly,  "and  he's  coming  back,  all  right,"  she 
ended,  going  down  the  stairs. 

Molly  watched  the  slim  young  figure  swing  out  to  the 
road.  The  girl  didn't  look  around,  and  the  woman  waited 
until  she  had  disappeared  through  the  gate. 

"He'll  not  get  out,  and  you,  you  little  upstart,"  she 
gritted,  "you'll  not  stay  in  Paradise  Road,  either." 


CHAPTER    XL 

AN  APPEAL  TO  JINNIE's  HEAET 

ONE  afternoon  she  was  on  her  way  home  from  her  lesson 
when  she  heard  a  voice  call,  "Miss  Grandoken!"  She 
glanced  up  swiftly,  recognizing  the  speaker  immediately. 
He  had  been  present  that  first  night  she  had  played  for 
Theodore's  guests,  and  she  remembered  vividly  her  intui- 
tive dislike  of  him;  but  because  he  was  a  friend  of  Theo- 
dore's she  went  forward  eagerly.  The  man  drove  his  car 
to  the  side  of  the  pavement  and  bowed. 

"Would  you  care  to  be  of  service  to  Mr.  King?"  he 
asked,  smiling. 

Jinnie  noticed  his  dazzling  teeth  and  scarlet  lips. 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed !    I  wish  I  might." 

"Then  come  with  me,"  replied  the  man.     "Will  you?" 

Without  fear  she  entered  the  open  car  door  and  sat 
down,  placing  her  violin  on  the  seat  beside  her.  She  sank 
back  with  a  sigh.  The  time  had  come  she  had  so  longed 
for;  she  was  going  to  do  something  for  Theodore.  She 
was  glad  now  she  had  consented  to  take  two  lessons  that 
day,  or  she  would  have  missed  this  blessed  opportunity  to 
show  her  gratitude  to  her  dear  one,  in  acts,  as  well  as 
words.  The  car  turned  and  sped  up  the  hill. 

If  Jinnie  wondered  where  the  man  was  taking  her,  she 
did  not  allude  to  it.  They  were  driving  in  the  same  di- 
rection she  took  every  day  to  visit  the  master,  and  the 
very  familiarity  of  it  turned  aside  any  question  that  arose 

281 


282  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

in  her  mind.  As  he  helped  her  from  the  machine,  &iie 
looked  up  at  the  sombre  building  in  front  of  them.  In 
passing  it  daily  she  had  often  wondered  what  it  was  and 
if  any  one  lived  within  its  vast  stone  walls.  One  hasty 
glance,  as  she  was  being  ushered  in,  showed  paint  pails, 
brushes,  and  long  ropes  fastened  from  the  roof  to  broad 
planks  below. 

"Miss  Merriweather  will  be  here  very  soon,"  the  man  ex- 
plained good-naturedly.  "She  wants  you  to  go  with  her 
to  the  hospital." 

Jinnie's  mind  flew  to  that  one  time  she  had  visited  Theo- 
dore's sick  bed.  She  would  be  glad  to  see  Molly  the  Merry. 

She  had  forgiven  all  the  woman's  cruelty. 

The  long  flights  of  stairs  they  mounted  were  dark  and 
uncarpeted.  Their  footsteps  made  a  hollow  sound  through 
the  wide  corridors,  and  there  was  no  other  sign  of  human 
life  about  the  place.  But  still  Jinnie  followed  the  man  in 
front  of  her,  up  and  up,  until  she  had  counted  five  floors. 
Then  he  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  and  put  it  in  the  lock, 
turning  it  with  a  click. 

Jinnie  waited  until,  stepping  inside,  he  turned  and  smil- 
ingly bade  her  enter.  There  was  so  little  natural  suspic- 
ion in  the  girl's  heart  that  she  never  questioned  the  pro- 
priety, much  less  the  safety,  of  coming  into  a  strange  place 
with  an  unknown  man.  Her  dear  one  was  ill.  She  was 
anxious  to  see  him  again,  to  help  him  if  possible.  She 
felt  a  little  shy  at  the  thought  of  seeing  Miss  Merriweather 
once  more.  The  man  led  her  to  an  inner  room  and  suavely 
waved  to  a  chair,  asking  her  to  be  seated.  Casting  anx- 
ious eyes  about  the  place,  she  obeyed. 

"I'm  going  after  Miss  Merriweather  now,  if  you'll  wait 
a  few  moments,"  explained  the  stranger.  "She  wasn't 
ready  and  asked  me  to  bring  you  first.  I  think  she's  pre- 
paring a  surprise  for  Mr.  King." 


AN  APPEAL  TO  JINNIE'S  HEART    283 

Jinnie's  tender  little  heart  warmed  toward  Molly  the 
Merry.  Just  then  she  had  untold  gratitude  for  the  woman 
who  was  allowing  her  to  take  Theodore  something  with 
her  own  hands.  Oh,  what  joy ! 

She  smiled  back  at  the  speaker  as  he  moved  toward  the 
door.  Then  he  left  her,  asking  her  politely  to  make  her- 
self at  home  until  he  returned. 

Jinnie  waited  and  waited  until  she  thought  she  couldn't 
possibly  wait  any  longer.  Peg  would  be  worried,  terribly 
worried,  and  little  Bobbie  wouldn't  eat  his  supper  without 
her.  But  because  of  Miss  Merriweather's  kindness  and 
her  own  great  desire  to  see  her  sweetheart,  she  must  stay 
until  the  last  moment.  She  grew  tired,  stiff  with  sitting, 
and  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel  told  her  she'd  been 
there  over  two  hours.  She  got  up  and  went  to  the  win- 
dow. The  building  stood  high  on  a  large  wooded  bluff 
overlooking  a  deep  gorge.  The  landscape  before  her  in- 
terested her  exceedingly,  and  took  her  in  fancy  to  the 
wilderness  of  Mottville.  The  busy  birds  fluttered  to  and 
fro,  twittering  sleepily  to  each  other,  and  for  a  short  time 
the  watcher  forgot  her  anxiety  in  the  majesty  of  the  scene. 

Miles  of  hills  and  miles  and  miles  of  water  stretched 
northward  as  far  as  her  eyes  could  discern  anything.  The 
same  water  passed  and  repassed  the  old  farmhouse,  and 
for  some  time  Jinnie  tried  to  locate  some  familiar  spot,  off 
where  the  sky  dipped  to  the  lake.  It  wasn't  until  she  no- 
ticed the  hands  of  the  clock  pointed  to  half  past  six  that 
she  became  terribly  nervous. 

She  wanted  to  go  to  the  hospital  and  get  back  to  Peg. 
Mrs.  Grandoken  couldn't  leave  the  baby  with  Blind  Bob- 
bie, and  there  was  supper  to  buy.  Once  more  she  paced 
the  rooms,  then  back  to  the  window.  She  shivered  for 
some  unknown  reason,  and  a  sharp  consciousness  of  evil 
suddenly  grew  out  of  the  lengthening  hours.  With  the 


284  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

gathering  dusk  the  hills  and  gorge  had  fallen  into  voice- 
less silence,  and  because  her  nerves  tingled  with  vague 
fear,  Jinnie  drew  the  curtains  to  shut  out  the  yawning 
dark,  and  lighted  lamp  on  the  table. 

The  room  was  arranged  simply  with  a  small  divan,  at 
the  head  of  which  was  a  pillow.  Jinnie  sat  down  and 
leaned  back.  Her  face  held  a  look  of  serious  attention. 
She  wondered  if  anything  had  happened  to  Molly  the 
Merry.  Then  abruptly  she  decided  to  go  downstairs. 
If  they  weren't  coming,  she'd  have  to  go  home.  She  went 
to  the  door  and,  turning  the  knob,  pulled  hard.  The  door 
was  locked,  and  the  key  was  gone !  Her  discovery  seemed 
to  unmake  her  life  in  a  twinkling.  She  was  like  one 
stricken  with  death — pale,  cold  and  shivering.  She  did  not 
know  what  she  was  going  to  do,  but  she  must  act — she 
must  do  something!  A  round  of  inspection  showed  her 
she  could  not  open  one  of  the  doors.  The  windows,  too, 
had  several  nails  driven  into  their  tops  and  along  the  sides, 
and  the  doors  were  securely  fastened  with  keys.  She 
went  back  to  the  window,  raised  the  curtains,  and  looked 
out  into  the  gloom.  There  was  not  another  light  to  be 
seen. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  had  struck  nine,  and  Jinnie  had 
grown  so  horrified  she  dared  not  sit  down.  Many  a  time 
she  went  to  the  door  and  pressed  her  ear  to  it,  but  no 
sound  came  through  the  deep  silence. 

It  was  after  eleven  when  she  dropped  on  the  (divan  and 
•drew  the  coverlet  over  her.  The  next  she  knew,  daylight 
was  streaming  in  upon  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

JINNEE'S  PLEA 

JINNIE  sprang  up,  unable  at  first  to  remember  where 
she  was.  Then  it  all  came  to  her.  She  was  locked  away 
from  the  world  in  a  big  house  overlooking  the  gorge. 
However,  the  morning  brought  a  clear  sun,  dissipating 
some  of  her  fear — filling  her  with  greater  hope. 

The  dreadful  dreams  during  the  night  had  been  but 
dreams  of  fear  and  pain — of  eternal  separation  from  her 
loved  ones.  Such  dreams,  such  fears,  were  foolish!  No 
one  could  take  her  away  from  Peggy.  She  wouldn't  go ! 
Ah,  the  man  would  return  very  soon  with  Molly  the 
Merry. 

The  clock  struck  eight.  What  would  Blind  Bobbie 
think — and  Peggy  ?  The  woman  might  decide  she  had  left 
her  forever ;  but  no,  no,  Peg  couldn't  think  that ! 

Childlike,  she  was  hungry.  If  some  one  had  intention- 
ally imprisoned  her,  they  must  have  left  her  something  to 
eat.  Investigation  brought  forth  some  cold  meat,  a  bot- 
tle of  milk,  and  some  bread.  Jinnie  ate  all  she  could  swal- 
low. Then  for  an  hour  and  a  half  she  paced  up  and  down, 
wishing  something  would  happen,  some  one  would  come. 
Anything  would  be  better  than  such  deadly  uncertainty. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  overwhelming  stillness  of  the  build- 
ing, possibly  a  natural  alertness  indicative  of  her  fear, 
that  allowed  Jinnie  to  catch  the  echoes  of  footsteps  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  corridor.  But  before  she  got  to  the 

285 


286  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

door,  a  key  grated  in  the  lock,  and  the  man  who  Ka3 
brought  her  there  was  standing  beside  her.  Their  eyes 
met  in  a  clinging,  challenging  glance — the  blue  of  the 
one  clashing  with  the  sinister  grey,  as  steel  strikes  fire 
from  steel.  An  insolent  smile  broke  over  his  face  and  he 
asked  nonchalantly : 

"Did  you  find  the  food?" 

Jinnie  did  not  answer.  She  stood  contemplating  his 
face.  How  she  hated  his  smile,  his  white  teeth,  and  his 
easy,  suave  manner.  Their  glances  battled  again  for  a 
moment  across  the  distance. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  here  ?"  she  demanded  abruptly. 

He  spread  his  feet  outward  and  hummed,  toying  the 
while  with  a  smooth  white  chin. 

"Sit  down,"  said  he,  with  assumed  politeness. 

Jinnie  stared  at  him  with  contemptuous  dread  in  her 
eyes. 

"I  don't  want  to ;  I  want  to  know  why  I'm  here." 

"Can't  you  guess?"  asked  the  stranger  with  an  easy 
shrug. 

"No,"  said  Jinnie.    "Why?" 

"And  you  can't  guess  who  I  am?" 

"No,"  repeated  Jinnie  once  more,  passionately,  "and  I 
want  to  know  why  I'm  here." 

He  came  toward  her,  piercing  her  face  with  a  pair  of 
compelling,  mesmeric  eyes  that  made  her  stagger  back  to 
the  wall.  Then  he  advanced  a  step  nearer,  covering  the 
space  Jinnie  had  yielded. 

"I'm  Jordan  Morse,"  he  then  said,  clipping  his  words  off 
shortly. 

If  a  gun  had  burst  in  Jinnie's  face,  she  could  have 
been  no  more  alarmed.  She  was  frozen  to  silence,  and  every 
former  fear  her  father  had  given  life  to  almost  three 
years  before,  beset  her  once  more,  only  with  many  times 


JINNIE'S  PLEA  287 

the  amount  of  vigor.  Nevertheless,  she  gave  back  look 
for  look,  challenge  for  challenge,  while  her  fingers  locked 
and  interlocked.  Her  uncle,  who  had  sent  her  father  to 
his  grave,  the  man  who  wanted  her  money,  who  desired  her 
own  death ! 

Then  her  eyes  slowly  took  on  a  tragic  expression.  She 
knew  then  she  was  destined  to  encounter  the  tragedy  of 
Morse's  terrific  vengeance,  and  no  longer  wondered  why 
her  father  had  succumbed  to  his  force.  He  stood  looking 
at  her,  his  gaze  taking  in  the  young  form  avidiously. 

"You're  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  world,"  he  averred 
presently. 

Jinnie's  blue  eyes  narrowed  angrily.  However,  in  spite 
of  her  rage,  she  was  terribly  frightened.  An  instinct  of 
self-preservation  told  her  to  put  on  a  bold,  aggressive 
front. 

"Give  me  that  key  and  let  me  go,"  she  insisted,  with  an 
upward  toss  of  her  head. 

She  walked  to  the  door  and  shook  it  vigorously.  Morse 
followed  her  and  brought  her  brutally  back  to  the  center 
of  the  room. 

"Not  so  fast,"  he  grated.  "Don't  ever  do  that  again! 
I've  been  hunting  you  for  almost  three  years.  .  .  .  Sit 
down,  I  said." 

"I  won't !"  cried  Jinnie,  recklessly.  "I  won't !  You 
can't  keep  me  here.  My  friends'll  find  me." 

The  man  hazarded  a  laugh. 

"What  friends  ?"  he  queried. 

Jinnie  thought  quickly.  What  friends?  She  had  no 
friends  just  then,  and  because  she  knew  she  was  dependent 
upon  him  for  her  very  life,  she  listened  in  despair  as  he 
threw  a  truthiat  her. 

"The  only  friends  you  have're  out  of  business !  Lafe 
Grandoken  will  be  electrocuted  for  murder " 


288  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  hateful  thing  he  had  just  said  and  the  insistence 
in  it  maddened  her.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  uttered  a  low  cry. 

"And  Theodore  King  is  in  the  hospital,"  went  on  Morse, 
mercilessly.  "It'll  do  no  good  for  you  to  remember  him." 

She  was  too  normally  alive  not  to  express  the  loving 
heart  outraged  within  her. 

"I  shall  love  him  as  long  as  I  live,"  she  shivered  between 
her  fingers. 

"Hell  of  a  lot  of  good  it'll  do  you,"  grunted  the  man 
coarsely. 

Keen  anxiety  empowered  her  to  raise  an  anguished  face. 

"You  want  my  money "  she  hesitated.  "Well,  you 

can  have  it.  ...  You  want  it,  don't  you  ?" 

Her  girlish  helplessness  made  Morse  feel  that  he  was 
without  heart  or  dignity,  but  he  thought  of  his  little  boy 
and  of  how  this  girl  was  keeping  from  him  the  means  to 
institute  a  search  for  the  child,  and  his  desire  for  ven- 
geance kindled  to  glowing  fires  of  hate.  He  remembered 
that,  steadily  of  late,  he  had  grown  to  detest  the  whole 
child-world  because  of  his  own  sorrow,  and  nodded  ac- 
quiescence, supplementing  the  nod  with  a  harsh: 

"And,  by  God,  I'm  going  to  have  it,  too !" 

"Then  let  me  go  back  to  Lafe's  shop.  I'll  give  you  every 
cent  I  have.  ...  I  won't  even  ask  for  a  dollar." 

It  took  some  time  for  Morse  to  digest  this  idea;  then 
he  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"You  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  give  me  what  would  be 
mine " 

"If  I  die,"  breathed  Jinnie,  shocked.  She  had  read  his 
thought  and  blurted  it  forth. 

"Yes,  if  you  die.  But  I  haven't  any  desire  to  kill  you. 
...  I  have  another  way." 

"What  way?    Oh,  tell  me!" 


JINNIE'S  PLEA  289 

"Not  now,"  drawled  Morse.    "Later  perhaps." 

The  man  contemplated  the  tips  of  his  boots  a  minute. 
Then  he  looked  at  her,  the  meditative  expression  still  in 
his  eyes. 

"To  save  your  friends,"  he  said  at  length,  "you've  got 
to  do  what  I  want  you  to." 

"You  mean — to  save  Lafe?"  gasped  Jinnie,  eagerly. 

Morse  gave  a  negative  gesture. 

"No,  not  him.  The  cobbler's  got  to  go.  He  knows  too 
much  about  me." 

Jinnie  thought  of  Lafe,  who  loved  and  helped  everybody 
within  helping  distance,  of  his  wonderful  faith  and  pa- 
tience, of  the  day  they  had  arrested  him,  and  his  last  words. 

She  could  not  plan  for  herself  nor  think  of  her  danger, 
only  of  the  cobbler,  her  friend, — the  man  who  had  taken 
her,  a  little  forlorn  fugitive,  when  she  had  possessed  no 
home  of  her  own — he  who  had  taught  her  about  the  angels 
and  the  tenderness  of  Jesus.  From  her  uncle's  last  state- 
ment she  had  received  an  impression  that  he  knew  who  had 
fired  those  shots.  He  could  have  Lafe  released  if  he 
would.  She  would  beg  for  the  cobbler's  life,  beg  as  she  had 
never  begged  before. 

"Please,  please,  listen,"  she  implored,  throwing  out  her 
hands.  "You  must!  You  must!  Lafe's  always  been  so 
good.  Won't  you  let  him  live?  .  .  .  I'll  tell  him  about 
your  wanting  the  money.  .  .  .  You  shall  have  it!  I'll 
make  any  promise  for  him  you  want  me  to,  and  he'll  keep 
it.  ...  He  didn't  kill  Maudlin  Bates,  and  I  believe  you 
know  who  did." 

Morse  lowered  his  lids  until  his  eyes  looked  like  grey 
slits  across  his  face. 

"Supposing  I  do,"  he  taunted.  "As  I've  said,  Grand- 
oken  knows  too  much  about  me.  He  won't  be  the  first  one 
I've  put  out  of  my  way." 


290  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

He  said  this  emphatically;  he  would  teach  her  he  was 
not  to  be  thwarted ;  that  when  he  desired  anything,  Heaven 
and  earth,  figuratively  speaking,  would  have  to  move.  He 
frowned  darkly  at  her  as  Jinnie  cut  in  swiftly : 

"You  killed  my  father.    He  told  me  you  did." 

Morse  flicked  an  ash  from  a  cigar  he  had  lighted,  and 
his  eyes  grew  hard,  like  rocks  in  a  cold,  gray  dawn. 

"So  you  know  all  my  little  indiscretions,  eh  ?"  he  gritted. 
"Then  don't  you  see  I  can't  give  you — your  liberty?" 

Liberty!  What  did  he  mean  by  taking  her  liberty 
away?  She  asked  him  with  beating  heart. 

"Just  this,  my  dear  child,"  he  advanced  mockingly. 
"There  are  places  where  people're  taken  care  of  and — the 
world  thinks  them  dead.  In  fact,  your  father  had  a  taste 
of  what  I  can  do.  Only  he  happened  to " 

"Did  you  put  him  somewhere?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Same  kind  of  a  place  I'm  going  to  put  you "  He 

hesitated  a  moment  and  ended,  "A  mad  house !" 

"Did  you  let  him  come  home  to  me?" 

"Not  I.  Damn  the  careless  keepers!  He  skipped  out 
one  day,  and  I  didn't  know  until  he'd  a  good  start  of  me. 
I  followed  as  soon  as  possible,  but  you  were  gone.  Now — 
now — then,  to  find  such  a  place  for  you !" 

Jinnie's  imagination  called  up  the  loathsome  thing  he 
mentioned  and  terrified  her  to  numbness.  At  that  moment 
she  understood  what  her  father  had  written  in  that  sealed 
letter  to  Lafc  Grandoken. 

But  she  couldn't  allow  her  mind  to  dwell  upon  his  threat 
against  herself. 

"What'd  you  mean  when  you  said  I  could  save  my 
friends  ?" 

"You're  fond  of  Mrs.  Grandoken,  aren't  you?" 


JINNIE'S  PLEA  291 

Jinnie  nodded,  trying  to  swallow  a  lump  in  her  throat. 

"And — and  there's  a — a — blind  child  too — who  could 
be  hurt  easily." 

Jinnie's  living  world  reeled  before  her  eyes.  During 
this  speech  she  had  lost  every  vestige  of  color.  She  sprang 
toward  him  and  her  fingers  went  blue-white  from  the  force 
of  her  grip  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  you  couldn't,  you  wouldn't  hurt  poor  little  Bob- 
bie?" she  cried  hysterically.  "He  can't  see  and  he's  sick, 
terribly  ill  all  the  time.  I'll  do  anything  you  say — any- 
thing to  help  'em." 

Then  she  fell  to  the  floor,  groveling  at  his  feet. 

"Get  up !  You  needn't  cry ;  things'll  be  easy  enough  for 
you  if  you  do  exactly  as  I  tell  you.  The  first  order  I 
give  you  is  to  stay  here  quietly  until  I  come  again." 

As  he  spoke,  he  lifted  her  up,  and  she  stood  swaying 
pitiably. 

"Can't  I  let  Peg  know  where  I  am?"  she  entreated  when 
she  could  speak.  "Please !  Please !" 

"I  should  think  not,"  scoffed  Morse.  Then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's consideration,  he  went  on,  "You  might  write  her  a 
note,  if  you  say  what  I  dictate.  I'll  have  it  mailed  from 
another  town.  I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  you're  still 
in  Bellaire." 

"Could  I  send  her  a  little  money,  too  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Morse. 

"Then  tell  me  what  to  write,  and  I  will." 

After  he  had  gone  and  Jinnie  was  once  more  alone,  she 
sat  at  the  window,  her  eyes  roving  over  the  landscape. 
Her  gaze  wandered  in  melancholy  sadness  to  the  shadowy 
summit  of  the  distant  hills,  in  which  the  wild  things  of 
nature  lived  in  freedom,  as  she  herself  had  lived  with  Lafe 
Grandoken  in  Paradise  Road,  long  before  her  uncle's  men- 
acing shadow  had  crossed  her  life.  Then  her  eyes  lowered 


292  ROSE   O'   PARADISE 

to  the  rock-rimmed  gorge,  majestic  in  its  eternal  solitude. 
She  was  on  the  brink  of  some  terrible  disaster.  She  knew 
enough  of  her  uncle's  character  to  realize  that.  She  spent 
the  entire  day  without  even  looking  at  her  beloved  fiddle, 
and  after  the  night  closed  in,  she  lay  down,  thoroughly 
exhausted. 

Peggy  took  a  letter  from  the  postman's  hand  mechani- 
cally, but  when  she  saw  the  well-known  writing,  she  trem- 
bled so  she  nearly  dropped  the  missive  from  her  fingers. 
She  went  into  the  shop,  where  Bobby  lay  face  downward 
on  the  floor.  At  her  entrance,  he  lifted  a  white  face. 

"Has  Jinnie  come  yet?"  he  asked  faintly. 

"No,"  said  Peg,  studying  the  postmark  of  the  letter. 
Then  she  opened  it.  A  five-dollar  bill  fell  into  her  lap, 
and  she  thrust  it  into  her  bosom  with  a  sigh. 

"PEGGY  DARLING,"  she  read  with  misty  eyes. 

"I've  had  to  go  away  for  a  little  while.  Don't  worry. 
Here's  some  money.  Use  it  and  I'll  send  more.  Kiss  Bob- 
bie for  me  and  tell  him  Jinnie'll  come  back  soon.  And  the 
baby,  oh,  Peggy,  hug  him  until  he  can't  be  hugged  any 
more.  Don't  tell  Lafe  I'm  away. 

"With  all  my  love, 

"JlNNIE." 

Peggy  put  down  the  letter. 

"Bobbie !"  she  said. 

The  boy  looked  up.  "I  ain't  got  any  stars,  Peggy," 
he  wailed  tragically.  "I  want  Jinnie  and  Lafe." 

"I've  got  a  letter  from  Jinnie  here,"  announced  Peggy. 

The  boy  got  to  his  feet  instantly. 

"When  she's  comin'  back?" 

"She  don't  say,  but  she  sends  a  lot  of  kisses  anld  love 
to  you.  She  had  to  go  away  for  a  few  days.  .  .  .  Now 


JINNIE'S  PLEA  293 

don't  snivel!  .  .  .  Come  here  an'  I'll  give  you  the  kisses 
she  sent." 

He  nestled  contentedly  in  Peggy's  arms. 

"Let  me  feel  the  letter,"  came  a  faltering  whisper  pres- 
ently. 

Bobbie  ran  his  fingers  over  the  paper,  trying  with  sen- 
sitive finger  tips  to  follow  the  ink  traces. 

"Can  I  keep  it  a  little  while  ?"  he  begged.  .  .  .  "Please, 
Peggy!" 

"Sure,"  said  Peg,  putting  him  down,  and  when  the  baby 
cried,  Mrs.  Grandoken  left  the  blind  child  hugging  Happy 
Pete,  with  Jinnie's  letter  flattened  across  his  chest  be- 
tween him  and  the  dog. 


CHAPTER    XLII 

BOBBIE  TAKES  A  TRIP 

JINNIE  had  been  gone  two  weeks.  Nearly  every  day  the 
postman  brought  a  letter  from  the  girl  to  Peggy,  and  after 
reading  it  several  times  to  herself,  she  gave  it  to  Blind 
Bobbie.  Mrs.  Grandoken  had  discovered  this  was  the  way 
to  keep  him  quiet. 

One  afternoon  the  boy  sat  on  the  front  steps  of  the 
cobbler's  shop,  sunning  himself. 

"You  can  hear  Jinnie  better  when  she  comes,"  said 
Peg,  as  an  excuse  to  coax  him  out  of  doors.  "Now  sit 
there  till  I  get  back  from  the  market." 

Bobbie  had  Happy  Pete  in  his  arms  when  he  heard 
strange  foosteps  walking  down  the  short  flight  of  steps. 
He  lifted  his  head  as  he  heard  a  voice  speak  his  name. 

"Bobbie,"  it  said  softly.     "Are  you  Bobbie?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy  tremblingly. 

The  soft  voice  spoke  again.  "Do  you  want  to  see  Jin- 
nie?" 

Bobbie  clutched  Happy  Pete  with  one  arm  and  struggled 
up,  holding  out  a  set  of  slender  fingers  that  shook  like 
small  reeds  in  a  storm. 

"Yes,  I  want  to  sec  'er,"  he  breathed.  "Do  you  know 
where  she  is  ?" 

"If  you'll  come  along  with  me,  I'll  take  you  to  her. 
Bring  the  dog  if  you  like." 

"I  want  to  see  her  to-day,"  stated  Bobbie. 

294 


BOBBIE  TAKES  A  TRIP          295 

Jordan  Morse  took  Bobbie's  hand  in  his. 

"Come  on  then,  and  don't  make  a  noise,"  cautioned  the 
man.  "Put  down  the  dog ;  he'll  follow  you." 

Once  in  Paradise  Road,  he  stooped  and  lifted  the  slight 
boyish  figure  and  walked  quickly  away.  Beyond  the  turn 
in  the  road  stood  his  car.  He  placed  Bobbie  and  the  dog 
on  the  seat  beside  Jim,  and  in  another  moment  they  were 
speeding  toward  the  hill. 

At  that  moment  Jinnie  was  brooding  over  her  violin. 
Her  fiddle  was  her  only  comfort  in  the  lonely  hours.  The 
plaintive  tones  she  drew  from  it  were  the  only  sounds  she 
heard,  save  the  rushing  water  in  the  gorge  and  the  thrash- 
ing of  the  trees  when  the  wind  blew.  The  minutes  hung 
long  on  her  hands,  and  the  hours  seemed  to  mock  her  as 
they  dragged  along  in  interminable  sequence.  With  her 
face  toward  the  window,  she  passed  several  hours  compos- 
ing a  piece  which  had  been  in  embryo  in  her  heart  for  a 
long  time.  The  solitude,  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery,  the 
wonderful  lake  with  its  curves  and  turns,  sometimes  made 
her  forget  the  tragic  future  that  lay  before  her. 

She  was  just  finishing  with  lingering,  tender  notes  when 
Jordan  Morse  came  quickly  through  the  corridor. 

Bobbie  stiffened  in  his  arms  suddenly. 

"I  hear  Jinnie's  fiddle,"  he  gasped.  "I'm  goin'  to  my 
Jinnie." 

When  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  girl  came  to  the 
door.  At  first  she  didn't  notice  the  blind  child,  but  her 
name,  unsteadily  called,  brought  her  eyes  to  the  little  fig- 
ure. Happy  Pete  recognized  her  with  a  wild  yelp,  wrig- 
gled himself  past  the  other  two,  and  whiningly  crouched 
at  her  feet.  Jinnie  had  them  both  in  her  arms  before 
Morse  turned  the  key  again  in  the  lock. 

"Bobbie  and  Happy  Pete!"  she  cried.  Then  she  got 
up  and  flashed  tearful  eyes  upon  Morse. 


296  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"What  did  you  bring  them  for?    Did  you  tell  Peg?" 
"No,  I  didn't  tell  Peg  and — and  I  brought  him- 


he  paused  and  beckoned  her  with  an  upward  toss  of  his 
chin. 

Jinnie  followed  him  agitatedly. 

"I  brought  him,"  went  on  Morse,  "because  I  don't  just 
like  your  manner.  I  brought  him  as  a  lever  to  move  you 
with,  miss." 

Then  he  left  hurriedly,  something  unknown  within  him 
stirring  with  life.  He  decided  afterward  it  was  the  sight 
of  the  blind  child's  golden  head  pressed  against  Jinnie's 
breast  that  had  so  upset  him. 

As  he  drove  away,  he  crushed  a  desire  to  return  again, 
to  take  them  both,  boy  and  girl,  back  to  the  cobbler's 
shop.  But  he  must  not  allow  his  better  emotions  to  at- 
tack him  in  this  matter.  He  had  known  for  a  long  time 
Jinnie  could  be  wielded  through  her  affection  for  the  lad. 
He  thought  of  his  own  child  somewhere  in  the  world  and 
what  it  meant  to  him  to  possess  Jinnie's  money,  and  set 
his  teeth.  He  would  bring  the  girl  to  his  terms  through 
her  love  for  the  slender  blind  boy. 

That  day  Jinnie  wrote  a  letter  to  Peg,  telling  her  that 
Bobbie  was  with  her,  and  Happy  Pete,  too. 

The  stolid  woman  had  quite  given  way  under  the  mys- 
terious disappearance  of  the  boy.  When  she  returned 
home,  she  searched  every  lane  leading  to  the  marshes  un- 
til dusk.  In  fact,  she  stumbled  far  into  the  great  waste 
place,  calling  his  name  over  and  over.  He  was  the  last 
link  that  held  her  to  the  days  when  Lafe  had  been  in  the 
shop,  and  Peg  would  have  given  much  if  her  conscience 
would  cease  lashing  her  so  relentlessly.  It  eased  her  anx- 
iety a  little  when  a  new  resolution  was  born  in  her  stub- 
born heart.  If  they  all  came  back  to  the  shop,  she'd  make 
up  to  them  in  some  way  for  her  ugly  conduct.  With  this 


BOBBIE  TAKES   A  TRIP          297 

resolve,  she  went  home  to  her  own  baby,  sorrowful,  dejected 
and  lonely. 

All  the  evening  while  Peg  was  mourning  for  them,  Jin- 
nie  sat  cuddling  Bobbie,  until  the  night  put  its  dark  hood 
on  the  ravine  and  closed  it  in  a  heavy  gloom.  Happy 
Pete,  with  wagging  tail,  leaned  against  the  knees  of  the 
girl,  and  there  the  three  of  them  remained  in  silence  until 
Bobbie,  lifting  his  face,  said  quiveringly : 

"Peggy  almost  died  when  you  went  away,  Jinnie." 

Jinnie  felt  her  throat  throb. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said  hoarsely. 

"There  ain't  much  to  tell,"  replied  the  child,  sighing, 
"only  Peggy  was  lonely.  She  only  had  me  and  the  baby, 
and  I  didn't  have  any  stars  and  the  baby's  got  no  teeth." 

"And  the  baby?     Is  he  well,  dear?"  questioned  Jinnie. 

"Oh,  fine !"  the  boy  assured  her.  "He's  growed  such  a 
lot.  I  felt  his  face  this  morning,  and  oh,  my,  Jinnie,  his 
cheeks  puff  out  like  this !" 

Bobbie  gathered  in  a  long  breath,  and  puffed  out  his 
own  thin,  drawn  cheeks. 

"Just  like  that !"  he  gasped,  letting  out  the  air. 

"And  Lafe?"  ventured  Jinnie. 

"Lafe's  awful  bad  off,  I  guess.  Bates'  little  boy  told 
me  he  was  going  to  die " 

"No,  Bobbie,  no,  he  isn't!"  Jinnie's  voice  was  sharp 
in  protestation. 

"Yes,  he  is !"  insisted  Bobbie.  "Bates'  boy  told  me  so ! 
He  said  Lafe  wouldn't  ever  come  back  to  the  shop,  'cause 
everybody  says  he  killed  Maudlin." 

As  the  words  left  his  lips,  he  began  to  sob.  "I  want 
my  cobbler,"  he  screamed  loudly,  "and  I  want  my  beau- 
tiful stars !" 

"Bobbie,  Bobbie,  you'll  be  sick  if  you  scream  that  way. 
There,  there,  honey !"  Jinnie  hushed  him  gently. 


298  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"I  want  to  be  'Happy  in  Spite',"  the  boy  went  on.  But 
his  words  brought  before  the  pale  girl  that  old,  old  mem- 
ory of  the  cobbler  who  had  invented  the  club  for  just  such 
purposes  as  this.  How  could  she  be  'Happy  in  Spite' 
when  Bobbie  suffered;  when  Peg  and  baby  Lafe  needed 
her ;  happy^  when  Lafe  faced  an  ignominious  death 
for  a  crime  he  had  not  committed;  happy  when  her  be- 
loved was  perhaps  still  very  ill  in  the  hospital?  She  got 
up  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro.  Suddenly  she  paused 
in  her  even  march  across  the  room.  Unless  she  steadied 
her  fluttering,  stinging  nerves,  she'd  never  be  able  to  still 
the  wretched  boy.  There's  an  old  saying  that  when  one 
tries  to  help  others,  winged  aid  will  come  to  the  helper. 
And  so  it  was  with  Jinnie.  She  had  only  again  taken 
Bobbie  close  when  there  came  to  her  Lafe's  old,  old  words : 
"He  hath  given  his  angels  charge  over  thee." 

"Bobbie,"  she  said  softly,  "I'm  going  to  play  for  you." 

As  Jinnie  straightened  his  limp  little  body  out  on  the 
divan,  she  noticed  how  very  thin  he  had  become,  how  his 
heart  throbbed  continually,  how  the  agonized  lines  drew 
and  pursed  the  sensitive,  delicate  mouth. 

Then  she  played  and  played  and  played,  and  ever  in 
her  heart  to  the  rhythm  of  her  music  were  the  words,  "His 
angels  shall  have  charge  over  thee."  Suddenly  there  came 
to  her  a  great  belief  that  out  of  her  faith  and  Lafe's  faith 
would  come  Bobbie's  good,  and  Peg's  good,  and  especially 
the  good  of  the  man  shut  up  in  the  little  cell.  When  the 
boy  grew  sleepy,  Jinnie  made  him  ready  for  bed. 

"I'll  lie  down  with  you,  Bobbie,"  she  whispered,  "and 
Happy  Pete  can  sleep  on  the  foot  of  the  bed." 

And  as  the  pair  of  sad  little  souls  slept,  Lafe's  angels 
kept  guard  over  them. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

THEODORE  SENDS  FOR  MOLLY 

«» 

THEODORE  King  was  rallying  rapidly  in  the  hospital. 
All  danger  of  blood  poison  had  passed,  and  though  he  was 
still  very  weak,  his  surgeon  had  ceased  to  worry,  and  the 
public  at  large  sat  back  with  a  sigh,  satisfied  that  the 
wealthiest  and  most  promising  young  citizen  in  the  county 
had  escaped  death  at  the  hand  of  an  assassin. 

One  morning  a  telephone  message  summoned  Molly  Mer- 
riweather  to  the  hospital.  In  extreme  agitation  she  dressed 
quickly,  telling  Mrs.  King  she  would  return  very  soon. 
Never  had  she  been  so  hilariously  happy.  Jinnie  Grand- 
oken  had  disappeared,  as  if  she  had  been  sunk  in  the  sea. 
Molly  now  held  the  whip  hand  over  her  husband ;  she  could 
force  him  to  divorce  her  quietly.  It  was  true  of  them 
both  now  their  principal  enemies  were  out  of  the  way. 
Theo  was  getting  well,  and  would  come  home  in  a  few 
days. 

While  she  had  thought  him  dying,  nothing  save  Jordan's 
tales  of  the  girl's  experiences  in  the  gorge  house  had  been 
able  to  rouse  her  to  more  than  momentary  interest. 

With  glowing  cheeks  she  followed  the  hospital  attendant 
through  a  long  corridor  to  Theodore's  room.  She  en- 
tered softly  and  for  a  moment  stood  gazing  at  him  ad- 
miringly. How  very  handsome  he  was,  even  with  the  hos- 
pital pallor!  When  the  sick  man  became  cognizant  of 
Molly's  presence,  he  turned  and  smiled  a  greeting.  He 
indicated  a  chair,  and  she  sank  into  it. 

299 


300  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"You  sent  for  me,  Theodore  ?"  she  reminded  him  softly, 
bending  forward. 

"Yes." 

He  was  silent  so  long,  evidently  making  up  his  mind  to 
something,  that  Molly  got  up  and  smoothed  out  his  pil- 
low. Theodore  turned  to  her  after  she  had  reseated  her- 
self. 

"Molly,"  he  began,  "do  you  know  where  Jinnie  Grand- 
oken is?" 

Molly's  eyelids  narrowed.  So  he  was  still  thinking  of 
the  girl ! 

"No,"  she  said  deliberately. 

"It  seems  strange,"  went  on  King  somberly.  "I've  tried 
every  way  I  know  how  to  discover  her  whereabouts,  and 
can't.  I  sent  to  the  Grandoken's  for  her,  but  she  was 
gone." 

"You  still  care  for  her  then?"  queried  Molly  dully. 

"Yes.  I  know  you  dislike  the  poor  child,  but  I  thought 
if  you  knew  that  I — well,  I  really  love  her,  you  might  help 
me,  Molly." 

It  was  a  bitter  harvest  to  reap  after  all  these  weeks 
of  waiting — his  telling  her  he  loved  another  woman — and 
as  his  voice  rang  with  devotion  for  Jinnie  Grandoken, 
Molly  restrained  herself  with  difficulty.  She  dared  not 
lose  her  temper,  as  she  had  several  times  before  under  like 
conditions.  With  her  hands  folded  gracefully  in  her  lap, 
she  replied: 

"If  I  could  help  you,  Theo,  I  would ;  but  if  Mrs.  Grand- 
oken doesn't  know  where  her  own  niece  is,  how  should  I 
know?" 

"You're  so  clever,"  sighed  Theodore,  "I  imagined  you 
might  be  able  to  discover  something  where  a  woman  like 
Mrs.  Grandoken  would  fail.  She's  got  a  young  child,  I 
hear." 


THEODORE   SENDS  FOR  MOLLY      301 

"What  do  you  suggest?"  inquired  Molly  presently. 

"I  want  to  find  out  quickly  where  she's  gone,"  the  sick 
man  said  bluntly. 

"You  want  to  see  her?"  demanded  Molly. 

Theodore  nodded. 

"Yes,  I'd  get  well  sooner  if  I  could,"  and  he  sighed 
again.  Then  his  ivory  skin  grew  scarlet  even  to  his  tem- 
ples, but  the  blood  rushed  away,  leaving  him  deathly  white. 
Molly  went  to  him  quickly  and  leaned  over  the  bed.  She 
wanted — oh,  how  she  wanted  to  feel  his  arms  about  her! 
But  he  only  touched  her  cold  hand  lightly. 

"Help  me,  Molly,"  he  breathed. 

Molly  choked  back  an  explanation.  She  would  glory  in 
doing  anything  for  him — anything  within  her  power ;  but 
nothing,  nothing  for  Jinnie  Grandoken.  Suddenly  an  idea 
took  possession  of  her.  She  would  make  him  doubt  Jin- 
nie's  love  for  him,  even  if  she  lied  to  him. 

"Of  course  I  knew  you  cared  for  her,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Yes,  I  made  that  clear,  I  think,"  said  Theo,  "and  she 
cares  for  me.  I  told  you  I  asked  her  to  marry  me"." 

He  laid  stress  on  the  latter  half  of  his  statement  be- 
cause of  a  certain  emphasis  in  Molly's. 

"I  don't  like  to  hurt  you — while  you're  ill,"  she  ven- 
tured. 

Theodore  thrust  forth  his  hand  eagerly. 

"Come  closer,"  he  pleaded.  "You  know  something ;  you 
can  tell  me.  Please  do,  Molly." 

"I  don't  know  much,  mind  you,  Theo " 

"Take  hold  of  my  hand,  Molly!  .  .  .  Please  don't 
keep  me  in  such  suspense." 

She  drew  her  chair  closer  to  the  bed,  her  heart  throb- 
bing first  with  desire,  then  with  anger,  and  laid  her  white 
fingers  in  his. 

"Tell  me,"  insisted  Mr.  King. 


802  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"There  was  a  boy " 

"You  mean  the  little  blind  boy?" 

"No,  no,"  denied  Molly,  paling.  The  very  mention  of 
such  an  affliction  hurt  her  sadly.  "No,"  she  said  again, 
"I  mean  a  friend  of  the  boy  who  was  shot ;  you  remember 
him?" 

"Oh,  I  remember  Maudlin  Bates ;  certainly  I  do ;  but  I 
don't  think  I  heard  of  any  other." 

Molly  hadn't  either;  she  had  shot  at  random  and  the 
shot  told. 

Theodore  sat  up  in  bed  with  whitening  face. 

"Molly,"  he  stammered,  "Molly,  has  any  one  hurt  her? 
Has " 

Molly  shook  her  head  disgustedly. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Theo,"  she  chided.  "No  one  would 
want  to  hurt  a  grown  girl  like  her." 

"Then  what  about  the  man?" 

"I  think  she  went  away  with  him." 

"Where  to?" 

"I'm  not  sure " 

Theodore  sank  back.  Molly's  fingers  slipped  from  his, 
and  for  a  moment  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  sound- 
less sobs  shaking  his  weak  body.  The  woman  knew  by  his 
appearance  that  he  believed  her  absolutely. 

"It'll  kill  me!"  he  got  out  at  last. 

Molly  slipped  an  arm  under  his  head.  She  had  never 
seen  him  in  such  a  state. 

"Theo,  don't!  Don't!"  she  implored.  "Please  don't 
shake  so,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know." 

"Very  well !  .   .  .     I'm  listening." 

The  words  were  scarcely  audible,  but  Molly  knew  and 
hugged  the  thought  that  his  belief  in  Jinnie  Grandoken 
had  been  shaken. 

"Did  you  hear  that  Jinnie  was  in  Binghamton  ?" 


THEODORE   SENDS   FOR  MOLLY      303 

"Yes,"  murmured  Theodore. 

The  woman  released  her  hold  on  Theodore,  and  said : 

"The  man  was  over  there  with  her." 

Theodore  turned  his  face  quickly  away  and  groaned. 

"That's  enough,"  he  said.    "Don't  tell  me  any  more." 

They  were  quiet  for  a  long  time — very  quiet. 

Then  Molly,  with  still  enlarging  plans,  burst  out : 

"What  if  I  should  bring  her  back  to  you,  Theo?" 

He  flashed  dark-circled  eyes  toward  her. 

"Could  you?"  he  asked  drearily. 

"I  think  so,  perhaps.  Suppose  you  write  her  a  little 
note,  and  then " 

"Ring  the  bell  for  writing  material  quickly." 

He  had  all  his  oldtime  eagerness.  He  was  partly  sit- 
ting up,  and  Molly  placed  another  pillow  under  his  head. 

Theodore  wrote  steadily  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
addressed  an  envelope  to  "Jinnie  Grandoken,"  placed  the 
letter  in  it,  and  fastened  down  the  flap. 

"You  won't  mind?"  he  asked  wearily,  handing  it  to 
Molly  and  sinking  back. 

Molly  took  the  letter,  and  witK  a  few  more  words,  went 
out.  Once  at  home  in  her  bedroom,  she  sat  down,  breath- 
ing deeply.  With  a  hearty  good  will  she  could  have  torn 
the  letter  into  shreds,  but  instead  she  ripped  open  the  en- 
velope and  read  it. 

After  she  had  finished,  she  let  the  paper  flutter  from 
her  hand  and  sat  thinking  for  a  long  time.  Then,  sighing, 
she  got  up  and  tucked  the  letter  inside  her  dress. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

MOLLY  GIVES  AN  ORDEE  TO  JINNEE 

A  MOTOR  car  dashed  to  the  side  of  the  street,  and  Jordan 
Morse  helped  Molly  to  the  pavement.  She  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  the  gorge  building  contemplatively. 

"And  she's  been  here  all  the  while?"  she  remarked. 

"Yes,  and  a  devil  of  a  time  I've  had  to  keep  her,  too. 
If  there'd  been  any  one  in  the  whole  place,  I  believe  she'd 
have  made  them  hear ;  though  since  the  boy  came  she's  be- 
haved better."  Morse's  face  became  positively  brutal  un- 
der recollections.  "I've  made  her  mind  through  him,"  he 
terminated. 

Jinnie  had  put  Bobbie  into  bed  and  kissed  him,  and  soon 
the  child  was  breathing  evenly.  She  knew  Jordan  Morse 
would  come  that  night,  so  she  closed  the  door  between  the 
two  rooms  and  walked  nervously  up  and  down.  Bobbie 
was  always  ill  for  hours  after  Morse  had  made  his  daily 
calls.  She  hoped  the  man  would  allow  the  child  to  remain 
in  bed.  When  the  key  grated  in  the  lock,  she  was  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  door. 
Every  time  he  came,. she  had  hopes  that  he  might  relent, 
if  but  a  little. 

Morse  entered,  followed  by  Molly  the  Merry.  Jinnie 
took  a  step  forward  when  she  saw  the  woman.  Molly 
paused  and  inspected  sharply  the  slim  young  figure,  her 
mind  comprehending  all  its  loveliness.  Then  woman  to 
woman  they  measured  each  other,  as  only  women  can.  Jin- 
nie advanced  impulsively. 

304 


MOLLY  GIVES  AN  ORDER        305 

"You've  come  to  take  me  home!"  she  breathed. 

Molly  shook  her  head. 

"I've  come  to  talk  to  you,"  she  retorted  hoarsely. 

Never  had  she  seen  so  beautiful  a  girl !  The  martyrdom 
Jinnie  had  endured  had  only  enhanced  her  attractiveness. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Molly  peevishly. 

Jinnie  made  a  negative  gesture. 

"I'm  tired  of  sitting.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  will  do  something 
for  me,  something  for  poor  little  Bobbie  ?" 

Morse  moved  to  the  door  between  the  two  rooms,  but 
Jinnie  rushed  in  front  of  him. 

"He's  asleep,"  she  said  beseechingly.  "Don't  wake  him 
up !  He's  had  a  dreadful  spell  with  his  heart  to-day." 

Morse  turned  inquiring  eyes  upon  Molly. 

"You  wanted  to  see  him,  didn't  you?"  he  asked. 

Molly  flung  out  a  hand  pettishly. 

"Let  him  sleep,"  she  replied.  "I  don't  want  to  be  bored 
with  fits  and  tears." 

Jinnie  sank  into  a  chair. 

"He  ought  to  have  a  doctor,"  she  sighed,  as  if  she  were 
speaking  to  herself.  Then  turning  to  Molly,  she  bent  an 
entreating  look  upon  her. 

"Please  do  something  for  him.  Get  a  doctor,  oh,  do ! 
He's  so  little  and  so  sick." 

"I'm  not  a  bit  interested  in  him,"  replied  Molly  with 
a  shrug. 

Jinnie's  nerves  had  borne  all  they  could.  She  trembled 
unceasingly.  The  girlish  spirit  had  been  broken  by 
Morse's  continual  persecution. 

"He's  so  little,"  she  petitioned  again,  "and  he  can't 
live  long." 

As  Molly  had  said,  she  was  not  interested  in  the  sleep- 
ing child.  The  only  time  she  cared  to  hear  him  mentioned 
was  when  Jordan  told  her  of  Jinnie's  anguish  over  his 


306  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

treatment  of  the  child.  She  had  delighted  in  his  vividly 
described  scene  of  how  he  had  forced  the  girl  to  do  his 
will  through  her  love  for  the  little  fellow.  Now  she,  too, 
would  wreak  her  vengeance  on  Jinnie  through  the  same 
source. 

"I've  come  to  tell  you  something  about  Theodore  King," 
she  remarked  slowly,  watching  the  girl  avidly  the  while. 

Jinnie  sat  up  quickly.  If  her  dear  one  had  sent  her  a 
message,  then  he  must  know  where  she  was. 

"Then  tell  it,"  was  all  she  said. 

Molly  put  her  hand  into  a  leather  hand  bag  and  drew 
forth  a  letter. 

"It  isn't  for  you,"  she  stated,  with  glinting  eyes.  "I've 
known  for  a  long  time  you  thought  he  cared  for  you " 

"He  does,"  interjected  Jinnie  emphatically. 

"I  think  not.  Here's  a  letter  he  wrote  to  me.  It  will 
dispel  any  idea  you  may  have  about  his  affection  for  you." 

"I  don't  wish  to  read  your  letter,"  said  Jinnie  proudly. 

"Read  it!"  ordered  Morse  frowning,  and  because  she 
feared  him,  Jinnie  took  the  letter  nervously.  The  woman's 
words  had  shattered  her  last  hope.  For  a  moment  the 
well-known  handwriting  whirled;  then  the  words  came 
clearly  before  her  vision : 

"Mr  DARLING,"  she  read. 

"Won't  you  come  to  me  when  you  get  this?  My  heart 
aches  to  have  you  once  more  in  my  arms.  I  shall  expect 
you  very  soon.  With  all  my  love, 

"THEODORE." 

It  was  not  strange  that  she  crushed  the  paper  between 
her  fingers. 

"You  needn't  destroy  my  letter,"  Molly  said  mockingly, 
thrusting  forth  her  hand.  "Give  it  to  me." 


MOLLY  GIVES  AN  ORDER       307 

She  took  it  from  Jinnie's  shaking  hand  and,  smoothing 
it  out,  replaced  it  in  her  pocket  book. 

"I  wouldn't  have  come  but  for  your  own  good,"  she  said, 
looking  up.  "Mr.  Morse  told  me  you  had  an  idea  that 
Mr.  King  loved  you,  and  I  want  you  to  write  him  a  let- 
ter  " 

"Write  who  a  letter?"  asked  Jinnie  dully. 

"Theodore." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  tell  you  to,"  snapped  Molly. 

Then  taking  another  letter  from  her  bag,  she  held  it 
out. 

"You're  to  copy  this  and  give  it  to  Mr.  Morse  to- 
morrow." 

Jinnie  took  the  letter  and  read  it  slowly.  She  struggled 
to  her  feet. 

"I'll  not  write  it,"  she  said  hoarsely. 

"I  think  you  will,"  said  Morse,  rising. 

Jinnie  stared  at  him  until  he  reached  the  closed  door 
behind  which  Bobbie  slept. 

"Don't!  Don't!"  she  shuddered.  "I'll  write,  I'll  do 
anything  if  you  won't  hurt  Bobbie."  Raising  her  eyes  to 
Morse,  she  said  in  subdued  tones,  "I'll  try  to  give  it  to  you 
to-morrow." 

Never  had  her  heart  ached  as  it  did  then.  The  perils 
she  was  passing  through  and  had  passed  through  were 
naught  to  the  present  misery.  She  realized  then  her  hope 
had  been  in  Theodore's  rescuing  her. 

A  certain  new  dignity,  however,  grew  upon  her  at  that 
moment.  She  stood  up,  looking  very  tall,  very  slight,  to 
the  man  and  woman  watching  her. 

"I  wish  you'd  both  go,"  she  said  wearily.  "I'd  rather 
be  alone  with  Bobbie." 

Molly  smiled  and  went  out  with  Jordan  Morse. 


308  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

"She  gave  in  all  right,"  remarked  Molly,  when  they 
were  riding  down  the  hill.  "I  knew  she  would." 

Morse  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Of  course.  She  worships  Grandoken's  youngster.  .  .  . 
I  was  wondering  there  once  how  you  felt  when  you  knew 
she  was  reading  her  own  letter." 

Molly's  face  grew  dark  with  passionate  rebellion. 

"He'll  write  me  one  of  my  own  before  the  year  is  out," 
said  she. 

"I'm  not  so  sure!"  responded  Morse  thoughtfully. 

For  a  long  time  after  the  closing  of  the  door,  Jinnie 
sat  huddled  in  the  chair.  Nothing  else  in  all  the  world 
could  have  hurt  her  as  she  had  been  hurt  that  night,  and 
it  wasn't  until  very  late  that  she  crept  in  beside  the  blind 
boy,  and  after  four  or  five  hours,  dropped  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XLV 

WRITING  A  LETTER  TO  THEODORE 

THE  first  thing  Jinnie  saw  the  next  morning  was  the 
rough  draft  of  the  letter  Molly  had  ordered  her  to  copy. 
To  send  it  to  Theodore  was  asking  more  of  her  than  she 
could  bear.  She  turned  and  looked  at  Bobbie.  He  was 
still  sleeping  his  troubled,  short-breathed  sleep.  She  had 
shielded  him  with  her  life,  with  her  liberty.  Now  he  de- 
manded, in  that  helpless,  babyish,  blind  way  of  his,  that 
she  repudiate  her  love. 

In  the  loneliness  of  the  gorge  house  she  had  become  used 
to  the  idea  of  never  again  seeing  Theodore,  but  to  allow 
him  to  think  the  false  thing  in  that  letter  was  dreadful. 
She  picked  it  up  and  glanced  it  over  once  more,  then 
dropped  it  as  if  the  paper  had  scorched  her  fingers.  She'd 
die  rather  than  send  it,  and  she  would  tell  her  uncle  so 
when  he  came  that  morning. 

She  was  very  quiet,  more  than  usually  so,  when  she  gave 
the  blind  boy  his  breakfast. 

"Bobbie,"  she  said,  "you  know  I'd  do  anything  for  you 
in  this  whole  world,  don't  you  ?  I  mean — I  mean  anything 
I  could?" 

Mystified,  the  boy  bobbed  his  curly  head. 

"Sure  I  do,  Jinnie,  and  I'd  do  anything  for  you  too, 
honey." 

She  kissed  him  passionately,  as  her  eyes  sought  the  let- 
ter once  more.  It  lay  on  the  floor,  the  words  gleaming 

309 


310  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

up  at  her  in  sinister  mockery.  She  tore  her  eyes  from  it, 
snaking  in  dread.  Would  she  have  the  courage  to  stand 
against  Jordan  Morse  in  this  one  thing?  She  had  given 
in  to  him  at  every  point,  but  this  time  she  intended  to 
stand  firmly  upon  the  rock  of  her  love.  Once  more  she 
picked  up  the  letter  and  put  it  away. 

Two  hours  later,  with  loathing  and  disgust  depicted  in 
her  white  face,  she  saw  Mr.  Morse  enter,  and  her  blazing 
blue  eyes  stabbed  the  man's  anger  to  the  point  of  desiring 
to  do  her  harm.  For  a  moment  he  contemplated  her  in 
silence.  He  was  going  to  have  trouble  with  her  that  day. 
What  a  fool  Molly  was!  It  was  she  who  insisted  upon 
that  bally  letter.  What  did  he  care  about  Theodore  King? 
Still  his  wife  had  him  completely  within  her  power,  and 
he  was  really  afraid  of  her  now  and  then  when  she  flew 
into  rages  about  his  niece  and  Theodore.  He  mopped  his 
brow  nervously.  • 

A  few  days  more  and  it  would  be  ended.  Inside  of  one 
week  he  would  be  free  from  every  element  which  threatened 
him,  free  to  commence  the  search  for  his  child.  He  strode 
across  the  room  to  Jinnie. 

"Come  on  with  me,"  he  ordered  under  his  breath. 

Jinnie  obediently  followed  him  into  the  inner  room. 
Morse  slammed  the  door  with  his  foot. 

"Where's  the  letter?"  he  growled  between  his  teeth. 

Jinnie  went  to  the  table,  got  the  original  draft  and 
handed  it  over. 

"Here  it  is,"  she  said  slowly. 

He  glanced  over  the  paper. 

"Why,  this  is  the  one  we  left  here  yesterday,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes!" 

"Where  is  the  one  you  wrote?    I  don't  want  this." 

A  glint  of  understanding  flashed  upon  him. 

"Where  is  the  other?"  he  demanded  once  more. 


A  LETTER  TO  THEODORE       311 

"I  Haven't  written  it  and  I  don't  intend  to." 

For  one  single  instant  Morse's  mind  swept  over  the 
sacrifices  she  had  made.  She  had  done  every  single  thing 
he  had  told  her,  not  for  her  sake  but  for  others.  He  shud- 
dered when  he  thought  of  the  trouble  he  would  have  had 
with  her  had  not  the  blind  boy  been  within  his  power  also. 

"Get  the  paper  and  write  it  now,"  he  said  ominously. 

"I  will  not!" 

She  meant  the  words,  a  righteous  indignation  flaming 
her  face,  making  her  eyes  shine  no  longer  blue,  but  opal 
color.  Morse  wondered  dully  if  she  could  and  would  stand 
out  against  what  he  would  be  forced  to  do. 

"I  see,"  he  began  shiftily.  "I  have  to  teach  you  a  les- 
son every  time  I  come  here,  eh?" 

"This  time  you  won't,"  she  flashed  at  him. 

"This  time  I  will,"  he  taunted. 

"I'd  rather  be  dead,"  she  faltered.  "I'd  rather  be  dead 
than  write  it." 

"Perhaps!  But  would  you  rather  have "  he  made 

a  backward  jerk  of  his  thumb  toward  the  other  room — 
"him  dead?" 

Jinnie's  eyes  misted  in  agony,  but  Theodore  was  still 
near  her  in  spirit,  and  she  remembered  the  dear  hours  they 
had  spent  together  and  how  much  she  loved  him.  A  sud- 
den swift  passion  shook  her  as  his  kisses  lived  warm  again 
upon  her  face.  That  letter  she  would  not  write.  But  as 
she  made  this  decision  for  the  hundredth  time  that  day, 
Morse's  words  recurred  to  her.  Would  she  rather  have 
Bobbie  dead?  Yes,  if  she  were  dead  too.  But  life  was  so 
hard  to  part  with !  She  was  so  strong.  How  many  times 
she  had  prayed  of  late  to  die !  But  every  morning  found 
her  woefully  and  more  miserably  alive  than  the  one  before. 

"I  understand  you'd  rather,  then,"  drawled  Morse. 

Jinnie  shook  her  head. 


812  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I  don't  know  what  I'd  rather  have,  only  I  can't  write 
the  letter."  She  made  one  rapid  step  toward  him — "I 
know,"  she  went  on  feverishly,  "I  won't  ever  see  Theodore 
again " 

Morse's  emphatic  nod  broke  off  her  words,  but  she 
went  on  courageously.  "I  don't  expect  to,  but  I  love  him. 
Can't  you  see  that?" 

"Quite  evident,"  replied  the  man. 

"Why  hurt  me  more  than  necessary  then?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"This  is  part  of  Miss  Merri " 

"She  loves  him  too  ?"  cried  Jinnie,  staggering  back. 

"Yes,  and  he — well,  you  saw  his  letter  yesterday." 

"Yes,  I  saw  it,"  breathed  Jinnie  with  swift  coming 
breath. 

"Miss  Merriweather  thinks  Theodore  might  still  feel 
his  obligations  to  you  unless  you " 

"Does  she  know  he  asked  me  to  marry  him?"  In  spite 
of  her  agony,  she  thrilled  in  memory. 

"Yes,  and  he  told  me,  too.  But  Miss  Merriweather  in- 
tends to  marry  him  herself,  and  all  she  wants  is  to  wipe 
thoughts  of  you  from  his  mind." 

A  powerful  argument  swept  from  her  lips. 

"It  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  him  about  me  if 
he  loved  her." 

"You're  an  analytical  young  miss,"  said  Morse  with 
one  of  his  disagreeable  smiles. 

"You've  taught  me  to  be,"  she  retorted,  blazing.  "Now 
listen !  You  asked  me  if  I'd  rather  have  Bobbie  die  than 
write  the  letter,  didn't  you?" 

He  nodded. 

"Then  I  say  'yes'."  She  caught  her  breath.  "We'll 
both  die." 

"Well,  by  God,  you're  a  cool  one!     Theodore's  more 


A  LETTER  TO  THEODORE       313 

lucky  than  I  thought.  So  that's  the  way  you  love 
him?" 

She  grew  more  inexplicable  with  each  passing  day. 

"Poor  Theodore !"  murmured  Morse,  to  break  the  tense 
silence. 

"I  thought  it  all  out  this  morning,"  explained  Jinnie. 
"Bobbie's  awfully  ill,  terribly.  He  can't  live  long  anyway, 

and  I "  A  terrific  sob  shook  her  as  a  raging  gale 

rends  a  slender  flower. 

Jinnie  controlled  her  weeping  that  the  blind  child  in  the 
other  room  might  not  hear.  Never  had  Jordan  been  so 
sorely  tempted  to  do  a  good  deed.  Good  deeds  were  not 
habitual  to  him,  but  at  that  moment  a  desire  possessed 
him  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  soothe  her,  to  restore  her  to 
Peggy  and  give  her  back  to  Theodore.  But  the  murder 
scene  in  the  cobbler's  shop  came  back  with  strong  re- 
newed vigor.  He  had  gone  too  far,  and  he  must  have 
money.  Molly  held  him  in  her  power,  and  as  he  thought 
of  her  tightly  set  lips,  the  danger  signal  she  had  tossed  at 
him  more  times  than  once,  he  crushed  dead  his  better 
feeling. 

"Your  plan  won't  work,"  he  said  slowly.  "Write  the 
letter — I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"I  will  not,"  she  refused  him  once  more."" 

Morse  walked  to  the  door,  and  she  allowed  him  to  open 
it.  Then  with  clenched  hands  she  tottered  after  him.  He 
was  going  to  kill  Bobbie  and  herself.  Somehow  within  her 
tortured  being  she  was  glad.  Morse  waited  and  looked 
back,  asking  her  a  question  silently. 

She  made  no  response,  however,  but  cast  her  eyes  upon 
the  blind  boy  sitting  dejectedly  upon  the  floor,  one  arm 
around  Happy  Pete. 

"Jinnie,"  said  Bobbie,  rolling  his  eyes,  "I  was  afraid 
you  were  goin'  to  stay  in  there  all  day." 


314  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Come  here,  boy,"  ordered  Morse.  "Get  up  and  come 
here." 

Bobbie  turned  his  delicate,  serious  face  in  the  direction 
of  the  voice. 

"I  don't  want  to,"  he  gulped,  shaking  his  head.  "I  don't 
like  you,  Mister  Black  Man.  I  can't  get  up  anyway,  my 
heart  hurts  too  much!" 

Still  the  girl  stood  with  the  vision  of  Theodore  King  be- 
fore her. 

"I  won't  write  it,  I  won't,"  she  droned  to  herself  insist- 
ently. 

Morse  sprang  forward  and  grasped  the  child. 

"Get  up,"  he  hissed. 

Bobbie  scrambled  up  because  he  was  made  to.  He  ut- 
tered a  frightened,  terrified  cry. 

Then,  "Jinnie!"  he  gasped. 

Jinnie  saw  Morse  shake  the  slender  little  body  and  drop 
into  a  chair,  dragging  the  child  forward.  Bobbie  could 
no  longer  speak.  The  dazed  girl  knew  the  little  heart  was 
beating  in  its  very  worst  terror.  She  couldn't  bear  the 
sight  and  closed  her  eyes  for  an  instant.  When  she 
opened  them,  Morse's  hand  was  raised  above  the  boy's 
golden  head,  but  she  caught  it  in  hers  before  it  descended. 

"I'll  do  it,"  she  managed  to  whisper.  "Look!  Look! 
You've  killed  him." 

In  another  moment  she  had  Bobbie  in  her  arms,  his  face 
pressed  against  her  breast. 

"Get  out  of  here!"  she  said,  deathly  white,  to  Morse. 
"I'll  do  it,  come  back  to-morrow." 

And  Morse  was  glad  to  escape. 

After  Jinnie  brought  Bobbie  to  his  senses  and  he  lay 
like  a  crumpled  leaf  on  the  divan,  she  took  up  the  hated 
1«  tt>  r.  She  sat  down  to  read  it  once  more. 

It  was  short,  concise,  and  to  the  point. 


A  LETTER  TO  THEODORE       315 

"ME.  KING: 

"I  made  a  mistake  in  ever  thinking  I  cared  for  you.  I 
have  some  one  else  now  I  love  better,  and  expect  to  be 
very  happy  with  him. 

"JINNIE  GRANDOKEN." 

The  next  morning  when  Morse  came  jauntily  in,  she 
handed  him  the  copy  of  it  without  a  word.  He  only  said 
to  her: 

"You'd  have  saved  yourself  a  lot  of  trouble  if  you'd 
done  this  in  the  first  place.  You  won't  bother  me  long  now. 
Mr.  King  is  home  and  almost  well."  Then  he  smiled,  show- 
ing his  white,  even  teeth.  "He'll  be  glad  to  receive  this 
letter." 

"Get  out,"  Jinnie  gritted.  "Get  out  before  I— I  kill 
you!" 


Two  days  later  Molly  Merriweather  was  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  bliss.  As  Morse  had  said,  Theodore  was  home, 
looking  more  like  himself.  With  her  heart  in  her  mouth, 
the  woman  entered  his  sitting  room  with  Jinnie's  letter. 
Jordan  had  had  it  mailed  to  King  from  Binghamton. 

"I've  brought  you  a  letter,  Theodore,"  smiled  Molly 
nervously. 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  upon  recognizing  the  hand- 
writing, turned  deadly  white. 

"I'd  like  to  be  alone,"  said  he  without  looking  up. 

When  he  sent  for  her  a  little  while  later,  and  she  sat 
opposite  him,  he  said: 

"I'd  rather  not  speak  of — of — Miss  Grandoken  again. 
Will  you  give  me  a  drink,  Molly?"  And  the  woman  noted 
the  hurt  look  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

"BUST   'EM   OUT" 

"  JINNEE,  ain't  we  ever  goin'  back  to  Peggy?"  Bobbie 
asked  one  day,  his  eyes  rolling  upward.  His  small  face 
was  seamed  with  questioning  anxiety. 

The  girl  drew  him  to  her  lap. 

How  many  times  Jinnie  had  asked  that  question  of  her- 
self !  How  she  longed  for  Paradise  Road,  with  its  row  of 
shacks,  Peggy  and  i^he  baby!  Bobby  knew  how  she  felt 
by  the  way  she  squeezed  his  hand. 

"Ain't  we?"  he  asked  again. 

"Some  time,"  answered  Jinnie  limply. 

"Did  the  black  man  say  we  could  go,  Jinnie?"  the  boy 
demanded. 

Jinnie  patted  his  head  comfortingly. 

"I  hope  he'll  take  us  home  soon,"  she  remarked,  trying 
to  put  full  assurance  into  her  tones. 

Bobbie  zigzagged  back  to  the  divan,  drew  himself  upon 
it,  and  Jinnie  knew  by  his  abstracted  manner  that  he  was 
turning  the  matter  over  in  his  busy  little  brain. 

Two  hours  later,  when  Jordan  Morse  came  in,  the  child 
was  still  sitting  in  the  same  position,  and  the  man  beck- 
oned the  girl  into  the  other  room. 

"Grandoken's  trial  is  to  start  this  afternoon  within  an 
hour,"  he  informed  her.  "You'll  be  here  to-day  and  to- 
morrow. You  see  the  court  won't  be  long  in  proving  the 
cobbler's  guilt." 

816 


"BUST    'EM    OUT"  317 

If  he  had  expected  her  to  cry,  he  was  mistaken.  SHe 
was  past  crying,  seemingly  having  shed  all  of  her  tears. 

"He  didn't  do  it,"  she  averred  stubbornly.  "I  know 
he  didn't." 

In  justice  to  Lafe,  she  always  reiterated  this. 

Morse  gave  a  sinister  laugh. 

"What  you  know  or  don't  know  won't  matter,"  he  re- 
sponded, and  looking  at  the  angry,  beautiful  face,  he  ejac- 
ulated, "Thank  God  for  that !" 

Jinnie  turned  her  back,  but  he  requested  her  sharply 
to  look  at  him. 

"Have  you  told  the  boy  where  I'm  going  to  take  you?" 
he  demanded,  when  she  was  eyeing  him  disdainfully. 

"No." 

"I  never  knew  a  woman  before  who  could  hold  her 
tongue,"  he  commented  in  sarcasm. 

Jinnie  didn't  heed  the  compliment. 

"When  he  asks  you  questions,  what  do  you  tell  him?" 

"That  you  will  come  for  us  soon." 

"I  will,  all  right." 

Jinnie  went  nearer  him. 

" Where  are  you  going  to  take  him?" 

Morse  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You'll  know  in  time,"  said  he. 

How  ominous  his  words  were,  and  how  his  eyes  narrowed 
as  he  looked  at  her!  She  was  thoroughly  afraid  of  that 
tone  in  his  voice.  Her  own  fate  she  was  sure  of,  but 
Bobbie — desperation  filled  her  soul.  She  would  beg  Morse 
to  let  him  go  back  to  Peggy. 

Lifting  clasped  hands,  she  walked  very  close  to  him. 

"You're  going  to  have  all  my  money,"  she  said  with 
emphasis.  "I've  done  everything  I  can,  and  I'll  make 
Bobbie  promise  not  to  say  a  word  to  any  one  if  you'll  take 
him  to  Mrs.  Grandoken." 


318  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Morse  shook  his  head. 

"Too  dangerous,"  he  replied,  and  he  went  out  without 
a  glance  at  the  blind  boy  on  the  divan. 

Once  more  alone  with  Bobbie,  Jinnie  sat  down  to  think. 
How  could  she  rescue  him  from  this  awful  position  ?  How 
get  him  back  to  Peggy?  Somehow  she  felt  that  if  she 
could  be  sure  the  little  boy  was  safe,  she  could  go  away  to 
the  place  Morse  had  described  with  at  least  a  little  relief. 
That  day  Lafe's  accusers  were  to  try  him  before  a 

jury .  She  had  almost  lost  hope  for  the  cobbler — he 

was  lame,  had  no  friends,  and  was  a  Jew,  one  of  the  hated 
race.  She  knew  how  the  people  of  Bellaire  despised  the 
Jews.  For  Peggy  she  didn't  worry  so  much.  Jordan 
Morse  had  given  his  solemn  promise  that,  if  Lafe  died  in 
the  electric  chair — and  she  died  to  the  world — he  would 
be  of  financial  assistance  to  Peggy. 

She  sat  studying  Bobbie  attentively.  The  child's  face 
was  pathetically  white  and  she  could  see  the  quick  palpi- 
tation of  his  heart  under  his  jacket. 

"I  heard  what  the  black  man  said,  Jinnie,"  Bobbie 
blurted  presently,  sinking  in  a  little  heap.  "I  mean  when 
he  had  you  in  the  other  room  a  little  while  ago.  You 
was  beggin'  him  to  help  me;  wasn't  you,  Jinnie?" 

Jinnie  went  to  him  quickly  and  gathered  him  into  her 
arms. 

"Bobbie,"  she  implored,  "you  must  never  let  him  know, 
never,  never,  that  you  heard  him  talking.  He  might 
hurt  you  worse  than  he  has." 

Bobbie  flashed  his  eyes  questioningly  in  evident  terror. 

"What'd  he  hurt  me  more  for?  I  ain't  done  nothin' 
to  him." 

"I  guess  because  he's  bad,  dear,"  said  Jinnie  sadly. 

"Then  if  he's  bad,  why  do  you  stay  here?"  He  clung  to 
her  tremulously.  "Take  me  away,  Jinnie!" 


"BUST    'EM    OUT"  319 

"I  can't !"  lamented  Jinnie.  "I've  told  you,  Bobbie,  the 
door's  locked." 

She  could  lovingly  deceive  him  no  longer. 

How  the  little  body  trembled!  How  the  fluttering 
hands  sought  her  aid  in  vain! 

"My  stars're  all  gone,  Jinnie,"  sobbed  Bobbie.  "My 
beautiful  stars!  I  can't  see  any  of  'em  if  I  try.  I'm 
awful  'fraid,  honey  dear.  It's  so  dark." 

Jinnie  tightened  her  arms  about  him,  racking  her  brain 
for  soothing  words. 

"But  Lafe's  God  is  above  the  dark,  Bobbie,"  she  whis- 
pered reverently.  "We've  got  to  believe  it,  dearie!  God 
is  back  up  there  .  .  .  just  up  there." 

She  took  his  slender  forefinger  and  pointed  upward. 

"How  does  God  look,  Jinnie?    Just  how  does  he  look?" 

"I've  never  seen  him,"  admitted  the  girl,  "but  I  think, 
Bobbie,  I  think  he  looks  like  Lafe.  I  know  he  smiles  like 
him  anyway." 

"I'm  glad,"  sighed  the  boy.  "Then  He'll  help  us,  won't 
He?  Lafe  would  if  he  could.  If  you  say  He  will,  He 
will,  Jinnie!" 

Five  tense  minutes  passed  in  silence.  Then:  "Sure  we 
couldn't  get  out  of  the  window,  dearie?"  asked  Bobbie. 

"They're  locked,  too,"  answered  the  girl,  low-toned. 

"I'd  bust  'em  out,"  volunteered  the  boy,  with  sudden 
enthusiasm. 

"But  there's  a  deep  gorge  in  front  of  every  one,  honey," 
replied  Jinnie  sadly. 

Yet  Bobbie's  words — "bust  'em  out" — took  hold  of  her 
grippingly,  and  the  thought  of  leaving  that  unbearable 
place  was  like  a  tonic  to  the  frantic  girl.  She  crossed  the 
room  rapidly  and  examined  the  window  panes.  But  even 
if  she  could  break  them,  as  Bobbie  suggested,  the  water 
below  would  receive  their  bodies,  and  death  would  follow. 


320  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

If  it  were  a  street,  she  might  manage.  Yet  the  sight  of 
the  flowing  water,  the  dark  depths  between  the  ragged 
rocks,  did  not  send  Bobbie's  words,  "bust  'em  out,"  from 
her  mind.  If  they  fell  together,  the  boy  would  never  be 
tortured  any  more.  To-morrow  Jordan  Morse  would  be 

in  the  courtroom  all  day.  To-morrow God,  dear 

God!  She  seemed  to  hear  Lafe's  monotone,  "There's  al- 
ways to-morrow,  Jinnie." 

She  was  called  upon  to  think,  to  act  alone  in  a  tragic 
way.  Of  course  she  would  be  killed  if  she  jumped  into 
the  deep  gorge  with  the  child  and  Happy  Pete.  She  tried 
to  think,  to  plan,  but  after  the  manner  of  all  believing 
sufferers,  could  only  pray. 

Bobbie  need  fear  no  evil!  "Angels  have  been  given 
charge  over  him,  and  Bobbie  shall  not  want,"  Jinnie  whis- 
pered, her  mind  spinning  around  like  a  child's  top.  A 
sudden  faith  boomed  at  the  portals  of  her  soul.  What 
was  the  use  of  asking  help  for  Bobbie  if  she  didn't  have 
faith  in  an  answer? 

To-day  would  bring  forth  a  plan  for  to-morrow.  To- 
morrow Bobbie  would  be  saved  from  Jordan  Morse. 
To-morrow  would  end  his  terror  in  the  gorge  house.  To- 
morrow— she  would  be  eighteen  years  old ! 

"Bobbie,"  she  entreated,  going  to  the  child  swiftly, 
"Bobbie,  do  you  remember  any  prayers  Laf e  taught  you  ?" 

The  child  bobbed  his  head. 

"Sure,"  he  concurred.  "  'Now  I  lay  me'  and  'Our 
Father  which  art  in  Heaven.'  ...  I  know  them,  Jin- 
nie." 

"Then  sit  upon  the  divan  again  and  say  them  over 
and  over,  and  pray  for  Lafe,  and  that  you'll  get  out  of 
here  and  be  happy.  You  mustn't  tell  Mr.  Morse  if  he 
comes,  but  I'm  going  to  try  to  get  you  out  of  the  win- 
dow." 


"BUST    'EM    OUT"  321 

As  she  stood  in  the  gathering  gloom  and  peered  into 
the  water  below,  Jinnie  could  hear  the  child  lisping  his 
small  petitions. 

At  that  moment  a  new  faith  came  for  herself.  Lafe's 
angels  would  save  her,  too,  from  Jordan  Morse's  revenge. 

At  ten-thirty  the  next  morning  Morse  came.  With 
trepidation  Jinnie  heard  him  open  the  door.  He  was  ex- 
tremely nervous  and  stayed  only  a  few  moments. 

"I've  got  to  be  in  court  at  eleven,"  he  explained,  "and 
I'll  come  for  you  both  about  ten  this  evening.  Be  ready, 
you  and  the  bo}r,  and  remember  what  I  told  you !" 

When  they  were  alone  once  more,  she  sat  down  beside 
the  blind  child  and  placed  her  arm  around  him. 

"Bobbie,  will  you  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you?" 

"Sure,"  responded  Bobbie,  cheerfully.  "Are  we  goin' 
home?" 

Without  answering  him,  Jinnie  said: 

"Then  take  Happy  Pete  and  don't  move  until  I  get 
back.  Just  pray  and  pray  and  pray !  That's  all." 

Happy  Pete  snuggled  his  head  under  Bobbie's  arm  and 
they  both  sat  very  still.  The  boy  scarcely  dared  to 
breathe,  he  was  so  anxious  to  please  his  Jinnie. 

The  farthest  window  in  the  inner  room  door  seemed  to 
be  the  best  one  to  attack.  If  Morse  surprised  her,  it 
would  be  easier  to  cover  up  her  work.  With  a  frantic 
prayer  on  her  lips,  she  took  off  her  shoe  and  gave  the 
pane  of  glass  one  large,  resounding  blow.  It  cracked  in 
two,  splinters  not  only  flying  into  the  room,  but  tumbling 
into  the  gorge  below.  Then  she  hastily  hammered  away 
every  particle  of  glass  from  the  frame,  and,  shoving  her 
shoulders  through,  looked  out  and  down.  The  very  air 
seemed  filled  with  angels.  They  could  and  would  save 
her  and  Bobbie  even  in  the  water — even  if  they  were  within 
the  suction  of  the  falls  there,  some  distance  below  and 


322  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

beyond.  Then  her  eyes  swept  over  the  side  of  the  build- 
ing, and  she  discovered  a  stone  ledge  wide  enough  for  a 
human  being  to  crawl  along.  Would  she  dare  try  it  with 
her  loved  ones?  She  distinctly  remembered  seeing  a 
painter's  paraphernalia  in  the  front,  and  they  might  be 
there  still!  The  more  she  thought,  the  greater  grew  her 
hope,  and  with  this  growing  hope  came  a  larger  faith.  At 
least  she'd  find  what  was  at  the  end  of  the  building  away 
off  there  to  the  east. 

To-day,  yes,  now!  .  .  .  She  couldn't  wait,  for  her 
uncle  was  coming  to-night.  It  must  be  now,  this  minute. 
She  went  back  to  Bobbie. 

"I'm  going  to  try  it,  darling,"  she  told  him,  kissing  his 
cheek.  "Sit  right  here  until  I  get  back.  Hang  to  Petey. 
He  might  follow  me." 

Then  cautiously  she  dragged  her  body  through  the 
hole  in  the  window,  and  began  to  crawl  along  the  stone 
ledge.  The  roar  of  the  water  on  the  rocks  below  made 
her  dizzy.  But  over  and  over  did  she  cry  into  God's  ever 
listening  ear : 

"He  has  given — he  has  given  his  angels — angels  charge 
over  thee." 

Jinnie  reached  the  corner  of  the  building,  and  looked 
out  over  the  city.  The  ledge  extended  around  the  other 
side  of  the  building,  and  she  turned  the  corner  and  went 
slowly  onward.  At  the  south  end  she  stopped  still,  glanc- 
ing about. 

Only  one  thing  of  any  value  was  in  the  range  of  her 
vision.  The  two  long  ropes  she  had  seen  long  before  were 
still  hanging  from  the  roof  and  fastened  securely  to  a 
large  plank  almost  on  the  ground.  It  brought  to  Jinnie's 
mind  what  Lafe  had  told  her, — of  Jimmie  Malligan  who 
had  been  killed,  and  of  how  he  himself  had  lost  his  legs. 

Could  she,  by  means  of  the  rope,  save  the  three  precious 


"BUST    'EM    OUT"  323 

things  back  in  that  awful  room — Bobbie,  Happy  Pete,  and 
her  fiddle? 

To  be  once  more  under  God's  sun  with  the  blue  above 
gave  her  new  strength.  Then  she  turned  and  crawled 
slowly  back. 

At  the  corner  she  grew  faint-hearted.  It  must  have 
been  the  gorge  below  that  made  her  breath  come  in  catch- 
ing sobs.  But  on  and  on  she  went  until  through  the 
window  she  could  see  Bobbie  with  Happy  Pete  asleep  in 
his  arms.  The  child  was  still  muttering  over  his  little 
prayers,  his  blind  eyes  rolling  in  bewildered  anxiety. 

Jinnie  was  very  white  when  she  sat  down  beside  him. 
Putting  her  face  close  to  his,  she  brushed  his  cheek  lov- 
ingly. 

"Bobbie,"  she  said,  touching  his  hair  with  her  lips, 
"how  much  do  you  love  Jinnie?" 

"More'n  all  the  world,"  replied  Bobbie  without  hesita- 
tion. 

"Then  if  you  love  me  that  much,  you'll  do  just  what  I 
tell  you." 

"Yes,"  Bobbie  assured  her  under  his  breath. 

Jinnie  took  a  towel — she  couldn't  find  a  rope — and 
strapped  the  violin  to  Bobbie's  back. 

"I've  got  to  take  my  fiddle  with  me,  dearie,"  she  ex- 
plained, "and  I  can't  carry  it  because  I've  got  you.  You 
can't  carry  it  because  you've  got  to  hold  Happy  Pete. 
...  Now,  then,  come  on!" 

Jinnie  drew  the  reluctant,  trembling  child  to  his  feet 
and  permitted  him  to  feel  around  the  window-sash;  she 
also  held  him  tightly  while  he  measured  the  stone  ledge 
with  his  fingers. 

"I'm  awful  'fraid,"  he  moaned,  drooping. 

Jinnie  feared  he  was  going  to  have  another  fainting 
spell.  To  ward  it  off,  she  said  firmly : 


324  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"Bobbie,  you  want  to  see  Lafe,  don't  you?" 

"S'awful  much,"  groaned  Bobbie. 

"Then  don't  hold  your  breath."  She  saw  him  stagger, 
and  grasping  him,  cried  out  "Breathe,  Bobbie,  breathe! 
We're  going  to  Peggy." 

Bobbie  began  to  breathe  naturally,  and  a  beatific  smile 
touched  the  corners  of  his  lips. 

"I  got  so  many  stars  to-day,  Jinnie,"  he  quavered,  "one 
slipped  right  down  my  throat." 

"But  you  mustn't  be  scared  again,  Bobbie !  If  we  stay, 
the  black  man'll  come  back  and  shake  you  again  and  take 
us  to  some  place  that'll  make  us  both  sick.  You  just 
keep  on  praying,  and  I  will,  too.  .  .  .  Now,  then,  I'm 
going  out,  and  when  I  say,  'Ready,'  you  crawl  after  me." 

"What's  that  noise?"  shivered  Bobbie,  clutching  Happy 
Pete. 

"It's  water,"  answered  Jinnie,  "water  in  the  gorge." 

Bobbie's  teeth  chattered.     "Do  we  have  to  jump  in  it?" 

"No,  I'm  going  to  take  you  down  a  rope." 

With  that  she  crawled  through  the  hole,  and  when  once 
on  the  stone  ledge,  she  put  her  hand  in  on  the  boy's  head. 

"Lift  up  your  leg  and  hang  tight  to  Petey,"  she  shud- 
dered, and  the  blind  boy  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  Jinnie 
pulled  him,  with  the  dog  and  fiddle,  through  the  opening. 
She  put  him  on  his  knees  in  front  of  her  with  her  arms 
tightly  about  him. 

"Jinnie,  Jinnie!"  moaned  Bobbie.  "My  heart's  jump- 
in'  out  of  my  mouth!" 

Jinnie  pressed  her  teeth  together  with  all  her  might 
and  main,  shivering  so  in  terror  that  she  almost  lost  the 
strength  of  her  arms. 

"Don't  think  about  your  heart,"  she  implored,  "and 
don't  shake  so !  Just  think  that  you're  going  to  Lafe  and 
Peg." 


"BUST    'EM    OUT"  325 

Then  they  began  their  long,  perilous  journey  to  the 
corner  of  the  building.  It  must  have  taken  twenty  min- 
utes. Jinnie  had  no  means  by  which  to  mark  the  time. 
She  only  knew  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep  the  blind  child 
moving,  with  the  water  below  bellowing  its  stormy  way 
down  the  rock-hill  to  the  lake.  Happy  Pete  gave  a  weird 
little  cry  now  and  then.  But  on  and  on  they  went,  and 
at  the  corner  Jinnie  spoke : 

"Bobbie,  we've  got  to  turn  here.  Let  your  body  go 
just  as  I  shove  it." 

Limp  was  no  word  for  Bobbie's  body.  He  was  dread- 
fully tired.  His  heart  thumped  under  Jinnie's  arms  like 
a  battering-ram. 

"Bobbie,  don't  breathe  that  way,  don't !"  she  entreated. 

"I  can't  help  it,  honey!  my  side  hurts,"  he  whispered. 
"But  I'll  go  where  you  take  me,  Jinnie  dear." 

The  girl  turned  him  carefully  around  the  sharp  ledge 
corner,  and  they  went  on  again.  Her  arms  seemed  almost 
paralyzed,  but  they  clung  to  the  child  ahead,  and  the 
child  ahead  clung  to  the  little  dog,  who  hung  very  straight 
and  inert  in  front  of  his  body. 

When  they  reached  the  south  corner,  Jinnie  explained 
their  next  move  to  Bobbie  in  this  way: 

"Now  listen,"  she  told  him.  "You  get  on  my  back  with 
your  legs  under  my  arms,  hang  to  me  like  dear  life,  and 
keep  Happy  Pete  between  us.  Don't  hurt  him  if  you  can 
help  it." 

They  were  within  touch  of  one  of  the  dangling  ropes 
and  far  below  Jinnie  saw  the  swaying  plank  to  which  it  was 
fastened.  Once  on  that  board,  she  could  get  to  the 
ground. 

Then  she  continued:  "Now  while  I  lean  over,  you  get 
on  my  back." 

As  she  guided  his   slender  hands.,  she  felt  them  cold 


326  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

within  her  own,  but  in  obedience  to  her  command,  Bobbie 
put  his  legs  about  her,  one  arm  around  her  neck,  and 
with  the  other  held  Happy  Pete. 

"We  won't  fall,  will  we,  Jinnie?"  quavered  the  boy. 

"No,"  said  Jinnie,  helping  to  settle  him  on  her  back. 

Then  she  crawled  closer  to  the  rope,  took  up  her  skirt 
and  placed  it  about  the  rough  hemp.  She  was  afraid  to 
use  her  bare  hands.  The  rope  might  cut  and  burn  them 
so  dreadfully  that  she'd  have  to  let  go.  With  a  wild 
inward  prayer,  she  swung  off  into  the  air,  with  the  boy, 
the  dog  and  the  fiddle  on  her  back,  and  began  her  down- 
ward slide.  She  counted  the  windows  as  they  passed,  one, 
two,  three,  and  then  four.  Only  a  little  distance  more 
before  she  would  be  upon  firm  ground.  As  her  feet 
touched  the  plank,  she  glanced  into  the  street  and  in  that 
awful  moment  saw  Jordan  Morse  crossing  the  corner 
diagonally,  within  but  a  few  yards  of  where  she  stood, 
terrified. 


CHAPTER    XLVII 

BOBBIE'S  STARS  RENEW  THEIR  SHINING 

JINNIE  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  the  burden  on  her 
back  bearing  heavily  upon  her.  She  scarcely  dared 
breathe,  but  kept  her  startled  eyes  upon  the  advancing 
man.  Her  uncle  was  walking  with  his  head  down.  As 
he  approached  the  building,  a  terrible  shiver  passed  over 
the  blind  boy. 

"The  black  man's  comin' !"  he  shuddered.    "I  hear " 

"Hush !"  whispered  Jinnie,  and  Bobbie  dropped  his  head 
and  remained  quiet. 

The  girl's  heart  was  thumping  almost  as  fast  as  his. 

In  the  oppressive  silence  she  heard  Bobbie's  faint  whis- 
per: "Our — our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven,"  and  her 
own  lips  murmured :  "He  has  given  his  angels  charge  over 
thee." 

Without  raising  his  eyes,  Jordan  Morse  sprang  to  the 
steps  and  entered  the  door. 

Jinnie  turned  her  head  and  almost  mechanically 
watched  him  disappear.  Then  she  took  one  long,  sob- 
bing breath. 

"Bobbie,  Bobbie,"  she  panted,  "get  down  quick!" 

The  boy  slid  to  the  plank,  dropping  Happy  Pete. 

Jinnie  grasped  the  child's  cold  hand  in  hers,  and  they 
ran  rapidly  to  a  thick  clump  of  trees.  Once  out  of  sight 
of  the  building,  she  picked  up  the  little  dog  and  sank 
down,  clutching  Bobbie  close  to  her  heart, 


328  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  beginning  of  the  second  day  of  Lafe's  trial  brought 
a  large  crowd  to  the  courthouse.  All  the  evidence  thus 
far  given  had  been  against  him,  but  he  sat  in  his  wheel- 
chair, looking  quietly  from  under  his  shaggy  brows,  and 
never  once,  with  all  that  was  said  against  him,  did  the 
sweet,  benevolent  expression  change  to  anger.  The  cob- 
bler had  put  his  life  into  higher  hands  than  those  in  the 
courtroom,  and  he  feared  not. 

After  the  morning  session,  Jordan  Morse  left  the  room 
with  a  satisfied  smile.  He  walked  rapidly  to  the  street- 
car and  took  a  seat,  with  a  thoughtful  expression  on  his 
countenance.  Lafe  would  be  convicted,  and  he  would  get 
rid  of  the  girl  now  shut  away  from  the  world  in  the  gorge 
building.  Then,  with  the  money  that  would  be  his,  he'd 
find  his  child, — the  little  boy  who  was  his  own  and  for 
whom  he  so  longed.  He  often  looked  at  Molly  and  won- 
dered how  she  could  smile  so  radiantly  when  she  knew 
she  had  lost  her  child, — her  own  flesh  and  blood, — her 
own  little  son. 

Even  after  he  left  the  car  and  was  approaching  the 
gorge,  he  worried  about  the  two  in  the  house.  It  was 
because  his  mind  was  bent  on  important  plans  that  he 
did  not  see  Jinnic  swinging  in  the  sunshine  between  heaven 
and  earth.  He  climbed  the  stairs,  framing  a  sentence  for 
the  girl's  benefit.  As  he  unlocked  the  door,  the  silence 
of  the  room  bore  down  upon  him  like  an  evil  thing.  He 
went  hurriedly  into  the  second  room,  only  to  find  it  also 
empty.  For  the  moment  he  did  not  notice  the  shattered 
glass  on  the  floor,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him,  but  the 
breeze  that  drifted  to  his  face  brought  his  eyes  to  the 
broken  window.  With  an  oath,  he  jumped  to  it  and 
looked  out.  Far  below,  the  water  tumbled  as  of  yore  over 
the  rocks.  He  strained  horrified  eyes  for  a  glimpse  of  a 
human  body.  The  girl  and  boy  must  have  dropped  to- 


BOBBIE'S  STARS  RENEW  SHINING   329 

gether  into  the  deep  abyss,  preferring  death  to  uncer- 
tainty. They  were  gone — gone  over  the  ragged  rocks, 
where  their  bodies  would  be  lost  in  some  of  the  fathom- 
less juts  a  mile  beyond.  He  would  never  be  bothered  with 
Jinnie  again.  Then  he  turned  from  the  window.  His 
most  terrifying  obstacle  was  out  of  his  way.  The  blind 
child  did  not  concern  him.  He  was  but  a  feather  in  the 
wind, — the  little  fellow  who  always  shrank  from  him. 

As  if  leaving  a  tomb,  he  went  softly  from  the  room  and 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock  with  a  sigh.  Jinnie  had  re- 
lieved him  of  an  awful  responsibility.  At  least  fate  had 
taken  from  his  hands  a  detestable  task,  at  which  he  had 
many  a  time  recoiled.  So  far  all  of  his  enemies,  with  the 
exception  of  Theodore  King,  had  one  by  one  been  taken 
away,  and  he  swung  himself  out  of  the  building  with  a 
great  burden  lifted  from  his  shoulders. 

As  he  passed,  Jinnie  was  still  drawing  long  breaths 
under  the  thick  bushes,  Bobbie's  face  against  her  breast, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  was  sure  Morse  had  gone  that  she 
ventured  to  speak. 

"We're  going  to  Lafe  and  Peg,  Bobbie,"  she  said.  "Can 
you  walk  a  long  way?" 

"Yes,"  gurgled  Bobbie,  color  flaming  his  face.  "My 
legs'll  go  faster'n  anything." 

And  "faster'n  anything"  those  thin  little  legs  did  go. 
The  boy  trotted  along  beside  his  friend,  down  the  hill  to 
the  flats.  Jinnie  chose  a  back  street  leading  to  the  lower 
end  of  the  town. 

"I'd  better  carry  you  a  while,  dearie,"  she  offered  pres- 
ently, noting  with  what  difficulty  he  breathed.  "You  take 
the  fiddle !"  And  without  remonstrance  from  the  boy  she 
lifted  him  in  her  arms. 

From  the  tracks  Lafe's  small  house  had  the  appearance 
.of  being  unoccupied.  Jinnie  went  in,  walking  from  the 


330  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

shop  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  called  "Peggy!"  two  or 
three  times.  Then  the  thought  of  the  cobbler's  trial 
rushed  over  her.  Peggy  and  the  baby  were  at  court  with 
Lafe,  of  course. 

Knowing  she  must  face  her  uncle  in  the  courtroom,  she 
went  to  Lafe's  black  box  and  drew  forth  the  sealed  letter 
her  father  had  sent  to  Grandoken.  This  she  hid  in  her 
dress,  and  taking  Bobbie  and  the  fiddle,  she  went  out  and 
closed  the  door. 

Another  long  walk  brought  them  to  the  courthouse, 
which  stood  in  solemn  stone  silence,  with  one  side  to  the 
dark,  iron-barred  jail.  Jinnie  shivered  when  she  thought 
of  the  weary  months  Lafe  had  sat  within  his  gloomy  cell. 

She  entered  the  building,  holding  Bobbie's  hand.  Every 
seat  in  the  room  was  filled,  and  a  man  was  making  a  speech, 
using  the  names  of  Maudlin  Bates  and  Lafe  Grandoken. 

Then  she  looked  about  once  more,  craning  her  neck 
to  catch  sight  of  those  ahead.  Her  eyes  fell  first  upon 
Lafe,  God  bless  him!  There  he  sat,  her  cobbler,  in  the 
same  old  wheel  chair,  wearing  that  look  of  benign  patience 
so  familiar  to  her.  Only  a  little  distance  from  him  sat 
Peggy,  the  baby  sleeping  on  her  knees.  Molly  the  Merry 
was  seated  next  to  Jordan  Morse,  whose  large  white  hand 
nervously  clutched  the  back  of  the  woman's  chair. 

Several  stern-looking  men  at  a  table  had  numerous 
papers  over  which  they  were  bending.  Then  Jinnie's  gaze 
found  Jasper  Bates.  She  could  see,  by  the  look  upon  his 
face,  that  he  was  suffering.  She  felt  sorry,  sorry  for 
any  one  who  was  in  trouble,  who  had  lost  a  son  in  such 
a  manner  as  Jasper  had.  Then  she  awoke  to  the  import 
of  the  lawyer's  words. 

"Before  you,  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,"  he  was  saying, 
"is  a  murderer,  a  Jew,  Lafe  Grandoken.  You  know  very 
well  the  reputation  of  the  people  on  Paradise  Road.  The 


BOBBIE'S  STARS  RENEW  SHINING   331 

good  book  says  'a  life  for  a  life.'  This  Jew  shot  and 
killed  his  neighbor " 

Jinnie  lost  his  next  words.  She  was  looking  at  Lafe, 
and  saw  his  dear  face  grow  white  with  stabbing  anguish. 
The  girl's  throat  filled  with  sobs,  and  she  suddenly  re- 
membered something  Theodore  had  once  said  to  her. 

"If  you  want  anything,  child,  just  play  for  it." 

And  she  wanted  the  life  of  her  cobbler,  the  man  who 
had  taken  her,  with  such  generosity,  into  his  heart  and 
meagre  home.  She  slipped  the  fiddle  from  the  case  and 
stooped  and  whispered  in  Bobbie's  ear: 

"Grab  the  back  of  my  dress,  dearie,  and  don't  let  go !" 

She  moved  into  the  aisle,  making  ready  to  start  on  her 
life  mission.  She  lifted  the  bow,  and  with  a  long  sweep, 
drew  an  intense  minor  note  from  the  strings.  A  sea  of 
faces  swung  in  her  direction.  Jinnie  forgot  every  one 
but  the  cobbler — she  was  playing  for  his  life — improvis- 
ing on  the  fiddle  strings  a  wild,  pleading,  imploring  mel- 
ody. On  and  on  she  went,  with  Blind  Bobbie,  in  trembling 
confusion,  clinging  to  her  skirts,  and  Happy  Pete  with 
sagging  head  at  their  heels.  At  the  first  sound  of  the 
fiddle  Lafe  tried  to  rise,  and  did  rise.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  on  his  shaking  legs,  and  there,  to  the  amazement 
of  the  gaping  crowd  of  his  townsfolk,  he  swayed  to  and 
fro,  watching  and  listening  as  the  wonderful  music  filled 
and  thrilled  through  the  room. 

A  heavenly  light  shone  on  the  wrinkled  face. 

Jordan  Morse  got  to  his  feet,  chalk  white.  Molly  the 
Merry  was  looking  at  Jinnie  as  if  she  saw  a  ghost. 

The  onlookers  saw  Lafe's  unsteady  steps  as  he  tottered 
toward  the  lovely  girl  and  blind  child.  When  he  was 
within  touching  distance,  she  put  the  instrument  and 
bow  under  one  arm  and  took  Lafe's  hand  in  hers.  Her 
voice  rang  out  like  the  tone  of  a  belL 


332  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

"I've  come  for  you,  Lafe.     I've  come  to  take  you  back." 

Then  Molly's  eyes  dropped  from  Jinnie  to  the  boy,  and 
a  cry  broke  from  her.  Before  her  was  the  child  for  whom, 
in  spite  of  the  evidence  of  her  smiling  lips,  she  had  truly 
mourned.  The  wan,  blind  face  was  turned  upward,  the 
golden  hair  lying  in  damp  curls  on  the  lovely  head.  Spon- 
taneously the  woman  reached  forward  and  took  the  little 
hand  in  hers.  All  the  mother  within  her  leaped  up,  like  a 
brilliant  flash  of  lightning. 

"My  baby !"  was  all  she  said ;  and  Bobbie,  white,  trem- 
bling and  palpitating,  cried  in  a  weird,  high  voice : 

"I've  found  my  mother!" 

Then  Jordan  Morse  understood.  The  hot  blood  was 
tearing  to  his  ear  drums.  The  blind  boy  he  had  perse- 
cuted and  tortured,  the  boy  he  had  made  suffer,  was  his 
own  son.  That  wonderful  quality  in  the  man,  the  father- 
hood within  him,  rose  in  surging  insistence.  Instant  re- 
morse attacked  him,  as  an  oak  is  attacked  by  fierce  winter 
storms.  He  saw  the  boy's  angelic  face  grow  the  color 
of  death ;  saw  Molly  the  Merry  gather  him  up.  Then  a 
stab  of  jealousy  cut  his  heart  like  a  knife.  He  bent  over 
with  set  jaws. 

"Give  him  to  me,"  he  cried.    "He's  mine !" 

Molly  surrendered  the  child  with  reluctance,  but  terror 
and  fright  were  depicted  upon  Bobbie's  face. 

"Jinnie!  Lafe!  Peggy!"  he  screamed.  "He'll  hurt 
me!  The  black  man's  goin'  to  kill  me!  Jinnie,  pretty 
Jinnie " 

The  passionate  voice  grew  faint  and  ceased.  Then 
the  loving  little  heart  burst  in  the  boyish  bosom,  and  Bob- 
bie's angels  bore  away  his  young  soul  to  another  world 
whcTC  blindness  is  not, — where  his  uplifted  being  would 
understand  that  the  stars  he'd  loved, — the  stars  he'd 
.gathered  in  his  small,  unseeing  head, — were  but  a  reflec- 


BOBBIE'S  STARS  RENEW  SHINING    333 

tion  of  those  in  God's  firmament.  .With  one  final  quiver 
he  straightened  out  in  his  father's  arms  and  was  silent. 
All  his  loves  and  sorrows  were  in  the  eternal  yesterdays, 
and  to-day  had  delivered  him  into  the  charge  of  Lafe's 
angels. 

Jinnie  was  crying  hysterically,  and  her  father's  dying 
curse  upon  her  uncle  leapt  into  her  mind.  She  was  cling- 
ing to  the  cobbler,  and  both  had  moved  to  Peg,  where 
the  woman  sat  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

Not  a  person  in  the  courtroom  stirred.  In  consterna- 
tion the  jury  sat  in  their  chairs  like  graven  images,  taking 
in  the  freshly  wrought  tragedy  with  tense  expressions. 
The  judge,  too,  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  watching. 

Jordan  Morse  faced  the  room,  with  its  silent,  observant 
crowd,  pressing  to  his  breast  the  dead  body  of  his  child. 
Then  he  turned  to  Lafe,  white,  twitching,  and  suffering. 

"I  shot  Maudlin  Bates,"  he  said,  haltingly;  then  turn- 
ing to  the  jury  he  continued:  "The  cobbler's  an  inno- 
cent man " 

A  menacing  groan  fell  from  a  hundred  lips  at  his  words. 

He  deliberately  took  from  his  hip  pocket  a  revolver, 
lifted  the  weapon  and  finished: 

"I'm — I'm  sorry,  Jinnie,  I'm " 

Then  came  the  sharp,  short  bark  of  the  gun,  and  the 
bullet  found  a  path  to  his  brain.  He  staggered,  fran- 
tically clutching  the  slender  body  of  Bobbie  closer — and 
toppled  over. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII 
FOR  BOBBIE'S  SAKE 

LAKE'S  homecoming  was  one  of  solemn  rejoicing.  The 
only  shadow  hanging  over  the  happy  family  was  the  ab- 
sence of  Blind  Bobbie,  who  now  lay  by  the  side  of  his  dead 
father. 

After  the  first  greetings,  Lafe  took  his  boy  baby  and 
pressed  him  gratefully  to  his  heart. 

"He's  beautiful,  Peggy  dear,  ain't  he?"  he  implored, 
drinking  in  with  affectionate,  fatherly  eyes  the  rosy  little 
face.  "Wife  darlin',  make  a  long  story  short  an'  tell  me 
he's  beautiful." 

Mrs.  Grandoken  eyed  her  husband  sternly. 

"Lafe,"  she  admonished,  "you're  as  full  of  brag  as  a 
egg  is  of  meat,  and  salt  won't  save  you.  All  your  life 
you've  boasted  till  I  thought  the  world'd  come  to  an  end, 
an*  I  ain't  never  said  a  word  against  it.  Now  you  can't 
teach  me  none  of  your  bad  habits,  because  I  won't  learn 
'em,  so  don't  try."  She  paused,  her  lips  lifting  a  little 
at  the  corners,  and  went  on:  "But  I'm  tellin'  you  with 
my  own  lips  there  ain't  a  beautifuller  baby  in  this  count y'n 
this  little  feller,  nor  one  half  so  beautiful!  So  there's 
my  mind,  sir." 

"  'Tis  so,  dear,"  murmured  the  cobbler,  rejoicing. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  while  Peggy  was 
uptown  replenishing  the  slender  larder  and  Lafe  and  Jinnie 
were  alone  with  the  baby,  there  came  a  timid  knock. 

884 


FOR  BOBBIE'S   SAKE  335 

Jinnie  went  to  the  door  and  there  stood  Molly  Merri- 
weather.  The  woman's  face  was  white  and  drawn,  her 
eyes  darkly  circled  underneath. 

One  glance  at  her  and  Jinnie  lost  her  own  color. 

"I  want  to  speak  with  you  just  a  moment,"  the  woman 
said  beseechingly.  "May  I  come  in?" 

Without  answering,  Jinnie  backed  into  the  room,  which 
action  Molly  took  as  a  signal  to  enter. 

She  inclined  her  head  haughtily  to  the  cobbler. 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  spoke  to  Miss  Grandoken  alone?" 

Lafe  looked  to  Jinnie  for  acquiescence. 

"If  Jinnie'll  help  me  to  the  kitchen,"  he  replied,  "you 
can  talk  here.  I'm  a  little  unsteady  on  my  feet  yet,  miss  !" 

It  took  some  time  for  the  tottering  legs  to  bear  him 
away,  but  the  strong,  confident  girl  helped  him  most 
patiently. 

"You  might  just  slip  me  the  baby,  Jinnie,"  said  Lafe, 
after  he  was  seated  in  the  kitchen.  "I  could  be  lookin'  at 
'im  while  you're  talkin'.  You  ain't  mindin'  the  woman, 
honey  lass,  be  you?" 

"No,  dear,"  answered  Jinnie. 

This  done,  the  girl  returned  to  Molly,  who  stood  at 
the  window  staring  out  upon  the  tracks.  She  turned 
quickly,  and  Jinnie  noticed  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"I  suppose  you  won't  refuse  to  tell  me  something  of 
my — my  little  boy  ?"  she  pleaded. 

Tears  welled  over  Jinnie's  lids  too.  Bobbie's  presence 
and  adoration  were  still  fresh  in  her  mind. 

"He's  dead,"  she  mourned.  "My  little  Bobbie !  Poor 
little  hurt  Bobbie !" 

Molly  made  a  passionate  gesture  with  her  gloved  hanids. 

"Don't,  please  don't  say  those  things!  I'm  so  miser- 
able I  can't  think  of  him.  I  only  wanted  to  know  how 
you  got  him." 


336 

"I  just  found  him,"  stated  Jinnie.  Then,  because 
Molly  looked  so  white,  she  forgot  the  anguish  the  woman 
had  caused  her,  and  rehearsed  the  story  of  Bobbie's  life 
from  the  time  she  had  discovered  him  on  the  hill. 

"I  guess  he  was  always  unhappy  till  he  came  to  us." 

"And  I  helped  to  hurt  him,"  cried  Molly,  shivering. 

"But  you  didn't  know  he  was  yours,"  soothed  Jinnie. 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"No,  of  course  I  didn't  know,"  she  replied,  and  then 
went  on  rapidly: 

"I  was  so  young  when  I  married  your  uncle,  I  didn't 
know  anything.  When  I  lost  my  baby,  I  knew  no  way  to 
search  for  him." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Jinnie  had  forgotten  that  they 
were  both  standing.  "Sit  in  that  little  rocker;  it's  Bob- 
bie's," she  finished. 

Molly  looked  at  the  little  chair  and  turned  away. 

"Lafe  bought  it  for  him,"  Jinnie  explained  eagerly. 
"He  was  too  sick  with  his  heart  to  get  around  much  like 
other  boys." 

Miss  Merriweather  wrung  her  hands. 

"Don't  tell  me  any  more,"  she  begged  piteously.  "He's 
dead  and  nothing  can  help  him  now.  I've — something 
else  to  say  to  you."  Jinnie  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Mr.  King  is  quite  well  now,  and " 

"Oh,  I'm  glad !"  cried  Jinnie.  "Does  he — he  ever  speak 
of  me?" 

Molly  shook  her  head  mutely. 

"I  don't  want  him  to  see  you!"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
growing  hard  and  bright. 

"Why?"     Jinnie  said  the  one  word  in  bewilderment. 

"He  doesn't  know  yet  what  Jordan  and  I  did  to  you, 
nor  about — about — Bobbie.  I  don't  want  him  to,  either, 
just  yet.  I  fear  if  he  does,  he  won't  care  for  me." 


FOR   BOBBIE'S    SAKE  337 

Jinnie's  eyes  drew  down  at  the  corners. 

"Of  course  ho  wouldn't  if  he  knew,"  she  said,  with 
tightly  gripped  fingers. 

Molly  paid  no  heed  to  this,  but  went  on  rapidly: 

"Well,  first,  you  don't  love  him  as  I  do " 

"I  love  him  very  much,"  interjected  Jinnie,  "and  he 
used  to  love  me.'' 

The  woman's  lips  drew  linelike  over  her  teeth. 

"But  you  see  he  doesn't  any  longer,"  she  got  out,  "and 
if  you  go  away " 

"Go  away?"  grasped  Jinnie. 

"Yes,  from  Bellaire.  You  won't  stay  here,  now  that 
you're  rich."  She  threw  a  contemptuous  glance  about 
the  shop.  Jinnie  caught  the  inflection  of  the  cutting 
voice  and  noted  the  expression  in  the  dark  eyes. 

"I'll  stay  wherever  Lafe  and  Peggy  are,"  she  said  stub- 
bornly. 

"Perhaps,  but  that  doesn't  say  you're  going  to  live  in 
this  street  all  your  life.  ...  I  want  you  to  go  back  to 
Mottville." 

Jinnie  still  looked  a  cold,  silent  refusal. 

Molly  grew  even  whiter  than  before,  but  remembering 
Jinnie's  kindly  heart,  she  turned  her  tactics. 

"I'm  very  miserable,"  she  wept,  "and  I  love  Theodore 
better  than  any  one  in  the  world." 

"So  do  I,"  sighed  Jinnie,  bowing  her  head. 

"But  he  doesn't  love  you,  child,  and  he  does  love  me." 

Jinnie's  eyes  fixed  their  gaze  steadily  on  the  other 
woman. 

"Then  why're  you  afraid  for  him  to  see  me?"  she  de- 
manded. 

Molly  got  to  her  feet.  She  saw  her  flimsily  constructed 
love  world  shattered  by  the  girl  before  her.  She  knew 
Theodore  still  loved  her,  and  that  if  he  knew  all  her  own 


338  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

wickedness,  his  devotion  would  increase  a  hundredfold. 
He  must  not  see  Jinnie !  Jinnie  must  not  see  him !  Rap- 
idly she  reviewed  the  quarrels  she  and  Theodore  had  had, 
remembered  how  punctiliously  he  always  carried  out  his 
honorable  intentions,  and  then — Molly  went  very  near 
the  girl,  staring  at  her  with  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"Jinnie,"  she  said  softly,  "pretty  Jinnie!" 

Those  words  were  Bobbie's  last  earthly  appeal  to  her, 
and  Jinnie's  face  blanched  in  recollection. 

"Didn't  you  love  my  baby?"  Molly  hurried  on. 

A  memory  of  fluttering  fingers  traveling  over  her  face 
left  Jinnie's  heart  cold.  Next  to  Lafe  and  Theodore  she 
had  loved  Bobbie  best. 

"I  loved  him,  oh,  very  much  indeed !"  she  whispered. 

"And  he  often  told  you  he  loved — his — his — mother?" 

"Yes." 

Molly  was  slowly  drawing  the  girl's  hands  into  hers. 

"He'd  want  me  to  be  happy,  Jinnie  dear.  Oh,  please 
let  me  have  the  only  little  happiness  left  me !" 

Jinnie  drew  away,  almost  hypnotized. 

"I  can't  be  a — a  good  woman  unless  I  have  Theodore," 
Molly  moaned.  "You're  very  young " 

Her  eyes  sought  the  girl's,  who  was  struggling  to  her 
feet. 

"For  Bobbie's  sake,  Jinnie,  for — for " 

Jinnie  brought  to  mind  the  blind  boy,  his  winsome  ways, 
his  desire  for  his  beautiful  mother,  her  own  love  for  Theo- 
dore, and  turning  away,  said  with  a  groan : 

"I  want  Theodore  to  be  happy,  and  I  want  you  to  be 
happy,  too,  for — for  Bobbie's  sake.  I — I  promise  not  to 
see  him,  but  I'll  always  believe  he  loves  me — that — 
that " 

"You're  a  good  girl,"  interrupted  Molly  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 


FOR   BOBBIE'S    SAKE  389 

Jinnie  went  to  the  door. 

"Go  now,"  she  said,  with  proudly  lifted  head,  "and  I 
hope  I'll  never  see  you  again  as  long  as  I  live." 

Then  Molly  went  away,  and  for  a  long  time  the  girl 
stood,  with  her  back  to  the  door,  weeping  out  the  sorrow 
of  a  torn  young  soul.  She  had  promised  to  give  up  Theo- 
dore completely.  She  had  lost  her  love,  her  friend,  her 
sweetheart.  Once  more  she  had  surrendered  to  Bobbie 
Grandoken  the  best  she  had  to  give. 

Later,  when  the  cobbler  and  his  wife  were  crooning  over 
their  little  son,  Jinnie,  with  breaking  heart,  decided  she 
would  leave  Bellaire  at  once,  as  Molly  had  asked  her.  She 
must  never  think  of  Theodore  again.  She'd  renounced 
him,  firmly  believing  he  still  loved  her ;  she'd  promised  to 
depart  without  seeing  him,  but  surely,  oh,  a  little  farewell 
note,  with  the  assurances  of  her  gratitude,  would  not  be 
breaking  that  promise. 

So,  until  Peggy  carried  the  baby  away  to  bed,  the  girl 
composed  a  letter  to  Theodore,  pathetic  in  its  terseness. 
She  also  wrote  to  Molly,  telling  her  she  had  decided  to  go 
back  to  Mottville  immediately. 

When  she  had  finished  the  letters,  she  took  her  usual 
place  on  the  stool  at  the  cobbler's  feet. 

"Lafe,"  she  ventured,  wearily,  "some  time  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  everything  that's  happened  since  I  last  saw 
you,  but  not  to-night!" 

"Whenever  you're  ready,  honey,"  acquiesced  Lafe. 

"And  I've  been  thinking  of  something  else,  dear.  I  want 
to  go  to  Mottville." 

Lafe's  face  paled. 

"I  don't  see  how  Peg  an'  me'll  live  without  you,  Jinnie." 

Jinnie  touched  the  hand  smoothing  her  curls. 

"I  couldn't  live  without  you  either,  Lafe,  and  I  won't 
try " 


340  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

The  cobbler  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"I  won't  try,  dear,"  she  repeated.  "You  must  all  live 
with  me,  although  I'll  go  first  to  arrange  things  a  little. 
We'll  never  worry  about  money  any  more,  dearest." 

"And  Mr.  King,"  Lafe  faltered,  quite  disturbed,  "what 
about  him?" 

"I  shan't  ever  see  him  again,"  Jinnie  stated  sadly. 
"I've  just  written  him,  and  he'll  understand." 

Lafe  knew  by  the  finality  of  her  tones  that  she  did  not 
care  to  discuss  Theodore  that  night. 


CHAPTER    XLIX 

BACK     HOME 

LATE  the  next  afternoon  Jinnie  left  the  train  at  Mott- 
ville  station,  her  fiddle  box  in  one  hand,  and  a  suitcase  in 
the  other.  She  stood  a  moment  watching  the  train  as 
it  disappeared.  It  had  carried  her  from  the  man  she 
loved,  brought  her  away  from  Bellaire,  the  city  of  her 
hopes.  One  bitter  fact  reared  itself  above  all  others. 
The  world  of  which  Theodore  King  had  been  the  integral 
part  was  dead  to  her.  What  was  she  to  do  without  him, 
without  Bobbie  to  pet  and  love  ?  But  a  feeling  of  thanks- 
giving pervaded  her  when  she  remembered  she  still  had 
Lafe's  smile,  the  baby  to  croon  over,  and  dear,  stoical 
Peggy.  They  would  live  with  her  in  the  old  home.  It 
was  preferable  to  staying  in  Bellaire,  where  her  heart 
would  be  tortured  daily.  Rather  the  brooding  hills,  the 
singing  pines,  and  all  the  wildness  of  nature,  which  was 
akin  to  the  struggle  within  her,  and  perhaps  in  the  future 
she  might  gather  up  the  broken  threads  of  her  life. 

She  shook  as  if  attacked  with  ague  as  she  came  within 
sight  of  the  gaunt  farmhouse,  and  the  broken  windows  and 
hanging  doors  gave  her  a  sense  of  everlasting  decay. 

Below  her  in  the  valley  lay  the  blue  lake,  a  shining 
spread  of  water,  quiet  and  silent,  here  and  there  upon  it 
the  shadow  of  a  floating,  fluffy  cloud.  She  listened  to  the 
nagging  chatter  of  the  squirrels,  mingled  with  the  flut- 
tering of  the  forest  birds  high  above  her  head.  As  she 

341 


342  ROSE    O'   PARADISE 

stood  on  the  hill,  the  only  human  being  in  all  the  wilder- 
ness about,  in  fancy  she  seemed  to  be  at  the  very  top  of 
the  world. 

She  heard  the  old  familiar  voices  of  the  mourning  pines, 
and  remembered  their  soothing  magic,  and  a  stinging  re- 
proach swept  over  her  at  the  thought  of  her  forgetful- 
ness  of  them.  They  had  been  friends  when  no  other 
friends  were  near.  Along  with  the  flood  of  memories 
came  Matty's  ghastly  ghost  stories  and  her  past  belief 
that  her  mother's  spirit  hovered  near  her. 

She  went  through  the  lane  leading  to  the  house  and 
paused  under  the  trees.  Presently  she  placed  her  violin 
box  and  suitcase  on  the  grass  and  lay  down  beside  them. 
In  the  eaves  of  the  house  a  dove  cooed  his  late  afternoon 
love  to  his  mate,  and  Jinnie,  because  she  was  very  young 
and  very  much  in  love,  brought  Theodore  before  her  with 
that  lingering  retrospection  that  takes  possession  in  such 
sensuous  moments.  She  could  feel  again  the  hot  tremor 
of  his  hands  as  they  clung  to  hers,  and  she  bent  her  head 
in  shame  at  the  acute,  electrifying  sensations.  He  be- 
longed to  another  woman;  he  no  longer  belonged  to  her. 
She  must  conquer  her  love  for  him,  and  at  that  moment 
every  desire  to  study,  every  thought  of  work  seemed  in- 
sipid and  useless.  The  whole  majestic  beauty  of  the 
scene,  her  sudden  coming  into  a  great  deal  of  money,  did 
not  add  to  her  happiness.  She  would  gladly  give  it  all 
up  to  be  again  with  her  loves  of  yesterday.  But  that 
could  not  be!  The  future  lay  in  a  hard,  straight  line 
before  her.  She  was  striving  against  a  ceaseless,  resisting 
force, — the  force  of  her  whole  passionate  nature. 

With  their  usual  reluctance,  the  things  of  night  at 
length  crept  forth.  Jinnie  felt  some  of  them  as  they 
touched  her  hands,  her  face,  and  moved  on.  One  of  the 
countless  birds  fluttered  low,  as  if  frightened  at  the  ad- 


BACK  HOME  343 

vancing  (lark,  brushed  her  cheek,  then  winged  on  and 
up  and  was  lost  in  the  tree  above  her.  Somewhere  deep 
in  the  gloom  shrouding  the  little  graveyard  came  the 
ghostly  flutter  of  an  owl. 

Jinnie  was  flat  on  her  back,  and  how  long  she  lay  thus 
she  could  never  afterward  remember,  but  it  was  until  the 
stars  appeared  and  the  moon  formed  queer  fantastic  pic- 
tures, like  frost  upon  a  window  pane.  In  solemn  review 
passed  the  days, — from  that  awful  night  when  she  had 
left  her  father  dead  upon  the  floor  in  the  house  nearby 
to  the  present  moment.  She  glanced  at  the  windows. 
They  looked  back  at  her  like  square,  darkening  eyes. 

She  wondered  dully  how  that  wee  star  away  off  there 
could  blink  so  peacefully  in  its  nightly  course  when  just 
below  it  beat  a  heart  that  hurt  like  hers.  She  closed  her 
eyes,  and  when  she  opened  them  again,  long  black  fingers 
were  drawing  dark  pictures  across  the  sky.  A  drop  of 
rain  fell  upon  her  face,  but  still  she  did  not  move.  Then, 
like  rows  of  soldiers,  the  low  clouds  drew  slowly  together, 
and  the  stars  softly  wept  themselves  out. 

Suddenly,  from  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  the  thunder 
rolled  up,  and  with  the  distant  boom  came  the  thought  of 
Lafe's  infinite  faith,  and  the  memory  fell  upon  Jinnie  like 
a  benediction  from  God's  dark  sky. 

She  arose  from  the  grass,  took  the  fiddle  box  and  bag, 
and  walked  to  the  porch.  She  went  in  through  the  broken 
door.  It  was  dark,  too  dark  to  see  much,  and  from  the 
leather  case  she  took  a  box  of  matches  and  a  candle. 
Memories  crowded  down  upon  her  thick  and  fast.  In  the 
kitchen,  which  was  bare,  she  could  mark  the  place  where 
Matty  used  to  sit  and  where  her  own  chair  had  been. 

The  long  stairs  that  led  from  the  basement  to  the  upper 
floor  yawned  black  in  the  gloom.  Candle  and  fiddle  in 
hand,  Jinnie  mounted  them  and  halted  before  the  un- 


344 

opened  door.  Somehow  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  find  be- 
fore the  grate  the  long,  thin  body  of  her  dead  father,  and 
she  distinctly  remembered  the  spindle  fire-flames  falling 
in  golden  yellow  licks  upon  his  face.  In  ner  imagination 
she  could  again  see  the  flake-like  ashes,  thrown  out  from 
the  smoldering  fire,  rise  grey  to  the  ceilir  g,  then  descend 
silently  over  him  like  a  pale  shroud. 

After  this  hesitation,  she  slowly  turne.l  the  handle  of 
the  door  and  walked  in.  The  only  things  remaining  in 
the  room  were  a  broken  table  and  chair.  She  placed  the 
violin  on  the  floor  and  the  candle  on  the  table.  Then 
with  a  shudder  Jinnie  drew  from  her  blouse  an  unopened 
letter,  studying  it  long  in  the  flickering  light.  It  had 
been  written  in  this  very  room  three  years  before,  and 
within  its  sealed  pages  lay  the  whole  secret  which  now 
none  but  the  dead  knew. 

It  took  no  effort  on  her  part  to  bring  back  to  her 
memory  Jordan  Morse's  handsome  face  ard  his  rock-grey 
eyes,  eyes  like  Bobbie's.  He  and  Bobbie  had  gone  away 
together.  She  touched  the  corner  of  the  envelope  to  the 
candle,  watching  it  roll  over  in  a  brown  curl  as  it  burned. 

"He's  happy  now,"  she  murmured.  "He's  got  his  baby 
and  Lafe's  angels." 

Then  she  gathered  up  the  handful  of  ashes,  opened  the^ 
window,  and  threw  them  out.  The  hands  of  the  night 
wind  snatched  them  as  they  fell  and  carried  them  swiftly 
away  through  the  rain. 

On  her  way  to  the  attic  stairs,  she  stood  a  minute  be- 
fore the  window,  awestricken.  From  the  north  the  great 
storm  was  advancing,  and  from  among  the  hills  rolled 
the  distant  roar  of  thunder.  It  brought  to  her  mind  the 
night  when  Peggy  had  gone  into  the  life-valley  and 
brought  back  Lafe's  baby ;  and  she  remembered,  too,  with 
a  sob,  Blind  Bobbie,  and  how  she  missed  him.  Ah,  it 


BACK  HOME  345 

was  a  lonely,  haunted  little  spirit  that  crept  up  the  dark 
narrow  stairs  to  the  garret! 

Only  that  the  room  seemed  lower  and  more  stuffy,  it, 
too,  was  much  the  same  as  she  had  left  it.  She  brushed 
aside  some  silvery  cobwebs,  raised  the  window,  and  sat 
down  on  a  dilapidated  trunk.  On  the  floor  at  her  feet, 
almost  covered  with  dust,  was  the  old  fairy  book  about 
the  famous  kings.  She  picked  it  up  mechanically.  On 
the  first  page  was  the  man  in  the  red  suit,  with  the  over- 
hanging nose  and  fat  body, — he  whom  she  at  one  time 
believed  to  be  related  to  Theodore. 

Again  she  was  overwhelmed  with  her  misery.  Theodore 
belonged  to  another  woman,  and  Jinnie,  alone  with  her 
past  and  an  uncertain  future,  sat  staring,  dry-eyed  into 
the  stormy  night. 


CHAPTER   L 

"GOD  MADE  YOU  MINE" 

"I  HAVEN'T  seen  any  papers  for  three  days,  Molly. 
What's  become  of  them  all?" 

Theodore  and  Molly  were  sitting  in  the  waning  sunshine, 
the  many-colored  autumn  leaves  drifting  silently  past 
them  to  form  a  varied  carpet  over  the  grass. 

All  fear  had  now  left  the  woman.  She  had  Jinnie's 
promise  not  to  see  Theodore,  and  he  had  apparently  for- 
gotten there  ever  was  such  a  girl  in  the  world. 

"I'd  really  like  to  see  the  papers,"  repeated  Theodore. 
"Dear  me,  how  glad  I  am  to  be  so  well !" 

"We're  all  glad,"  whispered  Molly,  with  bright  eyes. 

She  had  kept  the  papers  from  him  purposely,  playfully 
pretending  she  would  rather  give  him  an  account  of  the 
court  proceedings.  When  she  described  how  another  man 
had  confessed  to  the  shooting,  Theodore  felt  a  glad  thrill 
that  the  cobbler  was  exonerated.  Later  Molly  decided 
she  would  tell  him  about  Morse,  but  never  that  she  had 
married  him.  It  was  she  who  suggested,  after  a  time  of 
silence : 

"Theodore,  don't  you  think  a  little  trip  would  do  us 
all  good?  Your  mother's  been  so  worried  over  you " 

"Where  would  we  go?"  he  asked,  without  interest. 

"Anywhere  to  get  away  from  Bcllaire  for  a  season." 

"We  might  consider  it,"  he  replied  reluctantly.  Then 
he  fell  to  thinking  of  a  blue-eyed  girl,  of  the  letter, — that 

346 


"GOD  MADE  YOU  MINE"         847 

puzzling  letter  she  had  sent  him.  When  he  could  bear  his 
thoughts  no  longer,  he  got  up  and  walked  away  under  the 
trees,  and  Molly  allowed  him  to  go.  She  watched  him 
strolling  slowly,  and  was  happy.  He  had  been  so  sweet, 
so  kindly,  almost  thrilling  to  her  of  late.  She  would  make 
him  love  her.  It  would  be  but  a  matter  of  a  few  weeks  if 
she  could  get  him  away  from  Bellaire.  Just  at  that  mo- 
ment Mrs.  King's  bell  rang,  and  she  went  into  the  house. 
When  she  came  back,  Theodore  was  sitting  on  the  veranda 
reading  a  letter,  with  another  one  unopened  on  his  knee. 
The  sight  of  his  white  face  brought  an  exclamation  from 
her  lips. 

"Theodore !"  she  cried. 

He  reminded  her  she  was  standing  by  saying: 

"Sit  down !" 

This  she  was  glad  to  do,  for  her  knees  trembled.  Her 
eyes  caught  the  handwriting  on  the  unopened  letter,  rest- 
ing like  a  white  menace  on  Theodore's  lap.  She  saw  her 
own  name  upon  it,  but  dared  not,  nor  had  she  the  strength, 
to  ask  for  it. 

At  length,  with  a  long  breath,  Theodore  looked  at  her 
steadily. 

"This  letter  is  for  you,"  he  said,  picking  up  her  own. 
"Open  it  and  then — give  it  to  me." 

Never  had  she  heard  such  tones  in  his  voice,  nor  had 
she  ever  been  so  thoroughly  frightened.  Mechanically  she 
took  the  letter,  tore  open  the  flap,  anc*  read  the  contents : 

"DEAR  Miss  MERRIWEATHER  : 

"After  you  left  the  shop,  I  decided  to  do  as  you  wanted 
me  to.  I  shall  go  back  to  Mottville,  and  afterwards 
Peggy  and  Lafe  will  come  to  me.  I'll  keep  my  promise 
and  won't  see  Theodore.  I  hope  you  will  make  him 
happy.  JINNIE  GRANDOKEN." 


348  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Molly  crushed  the  paper  between  her  fingers. 

"Don't  do  that,"  commanded  Theodore  sharply.  "Give 
it  to  me." 

"It's  mine,"  murmured  Molly,  lacking  breath  to  speak 
aloud. 

"Give  it  to  me !"  thundered  Theodore. 

And  because  she  dared  not  disobey,  she  slowly  extended 
the  letter. 

"With  deliberation  the  man  spread  out  the  crumpled 
page  and  read  it  through  slowly.  Then  once  more  he 
took  up  his  own  letter  and  perused  it. 

"DEAR  MR.  KING  : 

"I'm  going  back  to  my  home  in  the  hills  to-morrow. 
I'm  so  glad  you're  better.  I  thank  you  for  all  you've 
done  for  Lafe  and  Peggy,  and  hope  you'll  always  be 
happy.  For  what  you  did  for  me  I  can't  thank  you 
enough,  but  as  soon  as  I  get  my  money,  I'll  send  back  all 
you've  advanced  for  my  lessons  and  other  things.  I'm 
praying  all  the  time  for  you. 

"JINNIE  GRANDOKEN  SINGLETON." 

Sudden  tears  almost  blotted  the  signature  from  Theo- 
dore's vision. 

On  the  spur  of  the  moment  he  picked  up  both  letters 
and  thrust  them  into  his  pocket. 

"Come  upstairs  with  me,"  he  ordered  the  woman  staring 
at  him  with  frozen  features. 

Molly  followed  him  as  in  a  dream,  preceding  him  when 
he  stepped  aside  to  allow  her  to  enter  the  little  sitting- 
room,  where  of  late  she  had  passed  so  many  pleasant 
hours.  Then  as  he  closed  the  door,  he  whirled  upon  her. 

"Now  I  want  the  meaning  of  those  letters.  Have  you 
seen  Miss  Grandoken?" 


"GOD  MADE  YOU  MINE"          349 

"Yes !"     She  could  say  no  more. 

"When?" 

"Yesterday." 

"There's  something  I  don't  know.  Ah!  That's  why 
you  kept  the  papers  from  me."  Quickly  he  turned  to  the 
bell. 

"Theodore !"  gasped  Molly.  "Wait !  Wait !  Don't— 
don't  ring !  I'll  tell  you ;  I  will !" 

He  pressed  the  bell  button  savagely. 

"I  wouldn't  believe  you  under  oath,"  he  muttered. 

"I  want  all  this  week's  papers,  and  I  want  'em  quick!" 
he  snapped  at  the  servant.  "Every  one !  Last  night's 
too !" 

He  walked  to  the  window,  but  turned  again  as  a  knock 
came  upon  the  door. 

"I  can't  find  the  papers,  sir,"  excused  the  maid. 

"Wait !"  Theodore  closed  the  door,  exclaiming  in  white 
heat,  "Molly,  where  are  those  papers?" 

"In  my  room,"  replied  Molly  sulkily. 

Mr.  King  gave  the  order,  and  again  they  were  behind 
closed  doors.  Molly  made  a  sorry  picture  of  shame  when 
Theodore  looked  at  her. 

"I'll  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  if  it  kills  me,"  he  said 
wearily. 

"Theo,  Theo,  don't  read  the  papers !"  she  gasped.  Then 
she  fell  forward  at  his  feet.  "I  love  you,  dear;  I  love 
you." 

"You've  lost  your  mind,  Molly,"  he  said  harshly. 
"You're  mad,  completely  mad." 

"No,  I'm  not.  Listen,  Theodore,  I'm  here  at  your  feet, 
miserable,  unhappy ;  I  want  to  be  forgiven " 

"Then  tell  me  what  you  did  to  Jinnie  Grandoken." 

"I  can't !     I  can't !" 

When  another  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  Theodore 


850  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

opened  it  and  took  the  papers  through  the  smallest  im- 
aginable crack.  Molly  crawled  to  a  chair  and  leaned  her 
head  upon  the  seat.  Without  a  word,  Theodore  sat  down 
and  began  to  turn  the  pages  of  the  papers  nervously. 
As  he  read  both  accounts  of  Lafe's  trial,  bitter  ejacula- 
tions fell  from  his  lips.  The  story  of  Bobbie's  dramatic 
death  and  Morse's  suicide  brought  forth  a  groan.  When 
he  placed  the  papers  slowly  beside  him  on  the  floor,  Molly 
raised  her  face,  white  and  torn  with  grief. 

"Now  you  know  it  all,  forgive  me !" 

"Never,  while  I  live !"  he  cried.  "What  ungodly  wretch- 
edness you've  made  that  child  suffer !  And  you  were 
married  all  the  time  to  Morse,  and  the  mother  of  that 
poor  little  boy !" 

"Yes,"  sobbed  Molly. 

Then  a  sudden  thought  took  possession  of  him. 

"You  and  Morse  made  Jinnie  write  me  that  first  letter." 

Molly  nodded. 

"May  God  forgive  you  both!"  he  stammered,  and 
whirled  out  of  the  room. 

An  hour  later,  with  new  strength  and  purpose,  Theodore 
threw  a  few  clothes  into  a  suitcase,  ordered  the  fastest 
motor  in  the  garage,  and  was  standing  on  the  porch  when 
Molly  came  swiftly  to  him. 

"Theodore,"  she  said,  with  twitching  face,  "if  you  go 
away  now,  you  won't  find  me  here  when  you  get  back." 

He  glanced  her  over  with  curling  lip. 

"As  you  please,"  he  returned  indifferently.  "You've 
done  enough  damage  as  it  is.  If  you've  any  heart,  stay 
here  with  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  has  any  faith 
in  you." 

Vacantly  the  woman  watched  the  motor  glide  away  over 
the  smooth  white  road,  and  then  limply  slid  to  the  floor 
in  a  dead  faint. 


"GOD  MADE  YOU  MINE"         851 

All  the  distance  from  Bellaire  to  Mottville  Theodore 
was  tortured  with  doubt.  He  brought  to  mind  Jinnie's 
girlish  embarrassment  when  they  had  been  together;  the 
fluttering  white  lids  as  his  kisses  brought  a  blue  flash 
from  the  speaking  love-lit  eyes.  She  had  loved  him  then ; 
did  she  now?  Of  course  she  must  love  him!  She  had 
brought  to  him  the  freshness  of  spring — the  love  of  the 
mating  birds  among  the  blossoms — the  passionate  desire 
of  a  heaven-wrought  soul  for  its  own,  to  whom  could  be 
entrusted  all  that  was  his  dearest  and  best.  He  would 
follow  her  and  win  her, — yea,  win  the  woman  God  had 
made  for  him  and  him  alone,  and  into  his  eyes  leapt  the 
expression  of  the  conquering  male,  the  force  God  had 
created  within  him  to  reach  for  the  woman  sublime  and 
cherish  her. 

When  the  car  entered  Mottville,  rain  was  falling  and 
the  wind  was  mourning  ceaselessly. 

By  inquiry,  Theodore  found  the  road  to  the  Singleton 
farm,  and  again,  as  he  impatiently  sank  back  in  the  motor, 
he  mentally  vowed,  with  the  vow  of  a  strong  man,  that 
the  girl  should  listen  to  him.  He  never  realized,  until 
they  were  climbing  the  rain-soaked  hill,  how  starved  was 
the  very  soul  of  him. 

The  road  was  running  with  water,  but  they  ploughed 
on,  until  through  the  trees  the  farmhouse  loomed  up 
darkly.  Bennett  stopped  the  car  at  the  gate  and  Theo- 
dore jumped  out.  A  light  twinkling  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  house  told  him  she  was  there.  Harmonious  echoes 
were  sounding  and  resounding  in  his  ears.  They  were 
notes  from  Jinnie's  fiddle,  and  for  a  moment,  as  they 
sobbed  out  through  the  attic  window,  he  leaned  back 
against  the  wet  fence,  feeling  almost  faint.  The  wild, 
sweet,  unearthly  melody  surged  over  him  with  memories 
of  the  past. 


352  ROSE    O'    PARADISE 

Then  he  passed  under  the  thrashing  pines,  mounted  tHe 
broken  steps,  and  entered  the  house. 

It  took  but  a  minute  to  find  the  stairs  by  which  to 
teach  her,  and  there  he  stood  in  the  gloom  of  the  attic 
door,  watching  the  swaying  young  figure  and  noting  the 
whole  pitiful  dejection  of  her.  In  the  single  little  light  her 
eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  wing  of  a  royal  bird,  and  oh,  what 
suffering  she  must  have  gone  through!  Then  Jinnie 
ceased  playing,  and,  as  if  drawn  by  a  presence  she  knew 
not  of,  she  turned  her  eyes  slowly  toward  the  door,  and 
when  she  saw  him,  she  fell,  huddled  with  her  violin  on  the 
garret  floor,  staring  upward  with  frightened  eyes. 

"If  you're  there,"  she  panted,  "if — if — speak  to  me!" 

He  bounded  forward  and  gathered  her  up,  and  the  light 
of  an  adoring  love  shone  full  upon  him. 

"My  sweet,  my  sweet,  my  beautiful,  my  little  wonder- 
woman  !"  he  breathed.  "Did  you  think  I  could  live  with- 
out you  ?" 

She  was  leaning,  half  fainting,  against  his  breast,  like  a 
wind-blown  flower. 

"I've  come  for  you,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Dearest, 
sweetest  Jinnie !" 

She  pressed  backward,  loyalty  for  another  woman  rising 
within  her. 

"But  Molly,  Molly  the  Merry "  she  breathed. 

Theodore  shook  his  head. 

"I  only  know  I  love  you,  sweetheart,  that  I've  come  for 
you,"  and  as  his  lips  met  hers,  Jinnie  clung  to  him,  a  vrry 
sweet  young  thing,  and  between  those  warm,  passionate 
kisses  she  heard  him  murmur: 

"God  made  you  mine,  littlest  love !" 

And  so  they  went  forth  from  the  lonely  farmhouse, 
with  none  but  the  cobbler's  angels  watching  over  them. 

THE      END 


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